


Inherited

by HeartlessMemo



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020), Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Master/Servant, Murder, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Servants, Smut, Vampires, dub con, hypnosis?, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22551091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: The Andrews family has always served Count Dracula. Emilie inherits the position of housekeeper from her grandmother. Though she is warned of his ghoulish appetites, she isn’t prepared for the intense attraction she feels for him nor his ability to bring her under his spell.
Relationships: Count Dracula/OC, Count Dracula/OFC, Count Dracula/Original Female Character, Dracula/OC, Dracula/Original Female Character(s), dracula/OFC
Comments: 80
Kudos: 239





	1. Chapter 1

“Shall I set the table tonight, milord?” asked the new housekeeper, Emilie, standing to one side of the wingback armchair where her master sat reading a newspaper. She clasped her hands demurely in front of her and hunched her shoulders forward in a posture that was all together subservient and frightened, like a skittish dog waiting to be struck. 

Ordinarily a housekeeper in a grand house like this one would be an old matron-type with years of experience and an unflappable disposition. Emilie was decidedly inexperienced and entirely flappable. She had inherited the position only weeks prior from her late grandmother, Mrs. Andrews. The old woman had served Count Dracula for decades, having inherited the role from her own mother. The Count’s unique lifestyle necessitated a certain amount of discretion and familiarity from his household staff. As a result that staff was kept small–just a housekeeper and a cook–and the positions were passed down from generation to generation. This meant that, with no need to hire outsiders, his secrets were safely guarded.

Emilie had assisted her grandmother for the last several years but the old woman always kept her sheltered from the frightful persona of the master, only allowing her to help with the daytime cleaning chores. Of course, Emilie had learned about the Count’s ways as her mother and grandmother had before her. She knew, for example, that Count Dracula had no appetite for food or drink but would frequently invite guests for dinner. Those guests fell into two categories: those who visited once and were never heard from again and those who remained for an extended stay. Extended guests fell under a pallor as if the atmosphere of the mansion were poisonous to them. Emilie could understand. She’d never felt quite safe within these walls.

“No, Emilie, we won’t be entertaining guests this evening. But,” Dracula’s eyes lingered on the girl’s neck, watching the fluttering pulse of blood race beneath her pale skin, “why don’t you keep me company for a while instead? I’m afraid I’ve been dreadfully neglectful of you since you’ve taken over dear old Mrs. Andrews’s duties. Take a seat by the fire with me.”

The count gestured to a low, upholstered ottoman sitting before his chair. It was an odd request and one she couldn’t remember her grandmother ever telling her to expect from him. Grandmother always made sure to stress how safe the Andrews family was with the Count, despite his fearful aspect and dubious appetite. Emilie knew, without having it explicitly spelled out, that Dracula was not human, that he fed from humans in some ghastly way in order to stay alive. But her family had always served him and he had never trespassed against the trust of that bond. But this, the Count’s request, was outside what she’d been led to expect from the relationship between master and servant. 

Dracula looked up at her from his seat, eyes gleaming with reflected firelight and a mischievous smirk on his lips, “Now, now, Emilie. You needn’t be frightened of me. You know that, don’t you?”

He must have noticed the tremor in her hands, the shakiness of her breath, but the Count wore a neutral expression as if not wanting to embarrass the girl by drawing attention to her fear. Emilie stepped forward and lowered herself to sit on the plush ottoman. She was much closer to the Count than she’d ever been before. Her knees, beneath the chaste fabric of her long skirts, brushed against his pant legs. She drew in a trembling breath and wrung her hands together in her lap.

“Yes, milord?” she ventured, uncertain what kind of company or conversation the Count desired. Now that she was seated she had to look up at him to meet his gaze. His broad shoulders and muscular frame were that much more apparent and intimidating from this angle. Emilie was just a wee thing. She was obliged to carry a step stool around the mansion with her during her cleaning rounds or else she’d never be able to reach the tops of the shelves and cabinets to dust them.

Dracula smiled down at her and she watched the white gleam of his teeth. It was a predator’s smile, like a wolf or a shark. Something small and ancestral cringed inside of her at that smile.

“How are you settling in, Emilie? I do hope you don’t mind my use of your first name. I can’t think of you as Mrs. Andrews quite yet,” the Count laughed and his eyes slid down her frame, taking in the plump curves and narrow waist of youth. Housekeepers were generally referred to as “Mrs” regardless of marital status. But they were also usually older than twenty-four.

Emilie blushed and ducked her head to avoid catching his knowing gaze. She’d always been frightened of Count Dracula. The mysterious, ominous stories told of him by her grandmother during her youth had instilled a healthy wariness in her. But before three weeks ago she had not ever spent any long period of time with the man and now that she had there were other feelings mixed in and warring with her fear. The Count was undoubtedly a handsome man. His powerful frame and tall stature were more than just intimidating–they were alluring. His lush dark hair and sharp angled face were impossible for Emilie not to admire. She’d gone about her chores for the last few weeks not only terribly frightened of her new master, but secretly harboring a girlish fancy for him as well. The mixture of emotions was heady and confusing. 

The Count reached out and grasped her chin with his long, elegant fingers forcing her to meet his gaze, “Tell me, Emilie, are you frightened of me?”

Emilie felt herself falling into the dark brown depths of his eyes. She felt the heat of the fireplace licking at her back and saw the orange glow of its reflection in his gaze. His grip on her chin tightened a fraction and she caught her breath. She could not move or look away. She was entirely under his power.

“Yes, milord,” she responded in barely a whisper, “I am frightened.”

Dracula’s lips quirked in a lopsided grin and his eyes gleamed with delight, “Why are you afraid of me, Emilie?”

*I mustn’t answer,* Emilie thought furiously attempting to blink away the fog of his hold on her. But when she opened her eyes again she was still enthralled and she found herself speaking words to explain what she barely understood herself, “Because….because of wh-what you do, milord.”

Dracula’s grin only widened and he prodded her further, “And what do I do to frighten you, sweet girl?”

Before she could answer he released his grip on her chin and dropped both hands to her waist, drawing her up and into his lap. Emilie squeaked in surprise but found that she had no will to resist him. Never in her life had any man taken such liberties with her. The Count left one hand on her hip and with the other began to gently stroke up her side and across her shoulders as if to comfort her. He donned an expression of concern and added, “You can tell me, Emilie. It’s alright.”

A voice in the back of her head sounded a warning. This was improper. This was dangerous. But Emilie was still arrested by the Count’s gaze and sinking beneath the intoxicating languor of his touch. She heard the Count’s words and her own grandmother’s words echoed within them. She was safe with him. Safe from him.

“You…hurt people, milord,” she breathed, letting go of her fear and her anxiety. She leaned into his chest, loose-limbed and completely vulnerable, her head fell to rest against his shoulder. “Don’t you?”

She felt the rumble of his laugh building up in his chest. He drew his arms around her in a gentle embrace and dipped his head to lay a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“But never you, my sweet girl,” he whispered, lips brushing against her earlobe. Emilie shuddered involuntarily and lifted her arms to wind them around his neck. “Never you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Before she came to live at Carfax Abbey, Emilie lived in the little family cottage with her sickly mother and younger sister. Her mother used to call her *little mouse* for her uncanny ability to sneak up behind people without making a sound. It wasn’t that she was a particularly mischievous child. There was little room for naughty antics in a childhood marked by a mother’s poor health and the certainty of a future in servitude. No, it was simply that she had a natural ability to move quietly. 

But no matter how she crept, snuck, or tip-toed, Emilie could never surprise the Count. 

She was raising her fist to rap softly on his chamber door when said door swung suddenly open, startling her and causing her to jump back slightly, a hand to her chest. 

“Oh!” she cried, and then blushed furiously at her own discomposure. She so wished for her grandmother’s cool self-possession. She supposed it would come with time. 

Count Dracula stood leaning out into the corridor with an arm balanced on the doorway and an amused smirk on his lips. He was half-dressed in a pair of perfectly tailored black trousers and a crisp white shirt only partially buttoned. Her eyes fell on his dark chest hair above the collar of his undershirt and then quickly darted away, focusing on a point over his shoulder. She refused to meet his gaze but she could feel his smugness in the air between them.

“Milord,” she curtsied while clutching a stack of freshly cleaned sheets to her chest like a shield, “I’ve brought some clean linen, shall I come back after you’re dressed?”

The Count stepped back and held the door open for her, “Not at all, Emilie. Come in. I could use your opinion on a tie for the evening.”

The master was to entertain tonight. She’d been instructed to order a large dinner from Cook and to set the table for two–although she knew that one place setting would certainly go unused. The guest was the younger sister of an heiress, visiting family in the country. Dracula had made a point of mentioning her great beauty and making sure that Emilie set out the finest china for their guest. She couldn’t help the flare of jealousy in her breast at his casual words. And she knew from the light in his eyes and the smirk on his mouth that he guessed her feelings. He seemed to delight in toying with her and she hadn’t yet learned the rules of his games.

Emilie entered her master’s chamber and set the linens down on the chest by the foot of his bed. The room was entirely windowless and dominated by the massive sleigh bed heaped with luxurious quilted blankets and pillows. It was beyond any luxury Emilie had experienced in her short life and she slyly ran a hand over the velvet coverlet, marveling at its softness. She stopped short when she felt the Count’s eyes on her and shoved her hands behind her back with an embarrassed frown.

“You said you needed assistance, milord?”

“Yes, darling girl,” he threw out the endearment so casually, he couldn’t know how it thrilled her to hear him say the words. He turned to his wardrobe and extracted several bow ties from a shallow drawer, “Which do you think would be best for this evening? Remember, Miss Lucy has blue eyes…”

Emilie pushed aside the sting of jealousy at his comment. She had to think rationally. She was a servant. He was her master. And a dangerous man, beyond that. It was a very good thing that he was not interested in her as anything other than his housekeeper. She took a deep breath and stepped closer, observing the ties draped over his forearm, reaching out a hand to feel the soft fabrics and then decidedly pointing to the one in the middle. It was a black and sapphire brocade fabric which would surely complement the young lady’s pretty eyes.

The Count smiled at her choice. “Just the one I was favoring,” he tossed the other ties in a careless heap inside the wardrobe, surely realizing she would tidy up for him later. He then turned back to her, holding out the tie in his hands, “Now, you’ll help me get ready.”

Emilie took the tie from him without thinking, but then looked up at him apologetically, “I…I don’t know how to tie it, I’m afraid…milord.”

The Count finished buttoning his shirt and stepped further into her personal space, gently taking her hands in his, “I’ll just have to teach you.”

She was obliged to step even closer to him until she stood nose to chest and had to crane her neck back to meet his eyes. He guided her hands through the motions, draping the tie around his neck and folding the fabric into an elaborate knot, his fingers brushing against hers all the while. When it was secured to his liking he took her hands again and held them to his chest, slowly stroking her soft skin with his calloused palms and looking down at her with brown eyes that had gone molten with intensity. Emilie felt the swoop of butterflies in her belly and goosebumps rising along her arms. As it always was with the Count she was equal parts frightened and thrilled by his close familiarity. She was like a moth drawn to a flame–it didn’t matter that the thing she wanted would certainly hurt her in the end. She swayed forward, inviting him with her body language and her imploring eyes. 

The Count accepted the invitation, cupping her upturned face in his clawed hands and bending forward to claim her lips with his own. It was an impossibly soft kiss, his lips brushing over hers with infinite care. Emilie felt herself swoon at the obvious care he took with her, knowing that he possessed the strength and cruelty she’d heard of in her grandmother’s stories. He sank his fingers into her glossy curls, upsetting the carefully pinned hairdo and completely discarding the white lacey servant’s cap. Emilie snaked her hands upward, daring to run her palms over the rich fabric of his shirt and reveling at the feel of his muscled chest underneath. 

Too soon he pulled away, looking down at her with his wolf’s grin and inscrutable eyes. Emilie’s breathing was ragged and shaky with the aftereffects of the kiss, but Dracula seemed hardly affected. He held her shoulders in a tight grip and she watched as his gaze fell to linger on her neck, her pulse point. His grin widened and his incisors looked almost like fangs. She shook her head to clear her lust clouded vision, certainly she had only imagined his teeth growing longer and sharper as he loomed over her.

“Run along, now, sweet Emilie,” Dracula’s voice was low and seductive, but his expression was already smoothing over into the impenetrable mask he wore for company. “Our guest will be arriving shortly…for dinner.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! Comments really keep me motivated!

Emilie stood still and upright in an out of the way corner of the dining room. It was her place–every servant’s place–to blend into the furnishings. She was not to obtrude in the master’s affairs or listen impertinently to his conversations. She should be like a statue: silent, still, without feeling. These were the lessons her grandmother had instilled in her during her training. A good servant was seen and not heard. The best servants were not even seen at all until they were needed.

On the inside, her emotions churned in turmoil. She watched beneath lowered lashes as the Count led Miss Lucy to a seat at the table and slid his own chair closer to hers. He leaned over the girl and whispered hushed words into her ear, grazing his lips over her cheeks, her neck. Emilie watched as Dracula made love to the young woman with his words, casting a spell upon her with which Emilie was intimately familiar. 

Miss Lucy was clearly enraptured. She’d barely touched her dinner but had already drunk nearly a full glass of wine. As the glass emptied the Count raised a hand to signal Emilie without looking up from his ministrations. He had practically engulfed the girl in his embrace and was laying kisses along the hollow of her throat with a feverish passion. Emilie stepped forward, swallowing her trepidation and determining to persevere as a professional. She took the crystal decanter from the sideboard and cradled it with care as she moved around the table to refill Miss Lucy’s cup. She tried to fix her eyes on the glass and the rich, red wine flowing into it, but she couldn’t help a quick sideways glance at her master and his guest.

Miss Lucy’s eyes were closed, her dark lashes fluttering prettily as the Count raked his lips across her throat. As if sensing Emilie’s gaze, Dracula looked up and locked eyes with her. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes appeared black and his cheeks were more flushed than she’d ever seen them. He kept her gaze as he laid another soft kiss on Miss Lucy’s collar bone and Emilie felt her lips tremble as she fought for self-control. The Count smirked and pulled back a bit from his prey.

“Emilie, why don’t you leave the wine here and go down to bed? You can clear the table in the morning. Miss Lucy and I will be up rather late…”

Emilie nodded slowly and placed the decanter down on the table with shaking hands. She was mortified to feel her eyes sting as a single tear drop fell and rolled over her cheek. She lowered her gaze, unable to bear seeing pity or…or amusement in the Count’s eyes at that moment. 

“Yes, milord,” she muttered and then fled the dining room as quickly as she dared. 

***

Emilie was the sole occupant of the servants’ wing. Her room was small and plain: white walls, a tiny window and a wood stove that kept her warm during the long, cold winter months. Her bed was covered with the patchwork quilt she’d received from her mother before coming to Carfax. It wasn’t much but she knew she was lucky to have a position which ensured her a roof over her head, food in her stomach and money to send home to her mother and sister. Most nights she went to sleep feeling gratitude. Tonight she lay down with tear streaked cheeks and a wretched heart.

She mentally berated herself for these foolish feelings of jealousy and betrayal. A man as powerful and dangerous as the Count could not be expected to feel the same way about a kiss as a silly young woman with no experience of the world. A kiss was nothing to a man like Count Dracula. It wouldn’t matter to him that it was her first, that she had felt her heart stop at the touch of his lips and the feel of his hands on her skin. She should not wish for his affection and attention, she should fear it. She recalled to her mind’s eye the ashen faces of Dracula’s ailing guests. The men and women who had passed through the hallways, moving like specters before the day came when they eventually disappeared. She still felt the terror and horror of the man responsible for claiming these victims. But she couldn’t ignore her attraction to him either. Something inside her was drawn to the darkness that cloaked the Count like an inky cloud. 

The night passed. Emilie watched the square of moonlight from her window travel over the bare white walls of her room. In the small hours, when the world felt empty of every other living soul except for she, there was a creak as her bedroom door opened. Long, white fingers tipped with ragged, sharp nails curled around the door as it swung forward. The count stepped inside and seemed to fill the tiny space with his dark presence. The moonlight fell across his handsome features and she saw that he had regained his composure after ravishing the beautiful Miss Lucy. Emilie sat up and pressed her back into her pillows, hugging her knees to her chest and staring, eyes wide with shock.

“What is it? Why are you here?” she whispered and then, remembering herself, rushed to add, “Milord.”

The Count smiled down at her and slid further into the room before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He watched her with elfin, mischievous eyes.

“I find that Miss Lucy has left…rather a bad taste in my mouth,” he replied, smacking his lips with a look of displeasure. “I thought I’d cleanse my palate with my delicious little housekeeper.”

Emilie felt her cheeks flush at his overtly seductive tone and hypnotic, husky voice. She couldn’t pretend to fully grasp his words, though. The gleam in his eyes and his smirking lips spoke of a hidden double meaning, but surely there was only one thing he could mean by “tasting” his female guest. Emilie might be innocent but she knew the Count must have taken Miss Lucy to his bed. And now here he was watching Emilie with a feral gaze, sitting in her bed in an empty wing, the only two souls in the world, it seemed. 

She should have asked him to leave…or she should have left and never looked back. Instead, Emilie felt herself shifting forward on her hands and knees and crawling towards her master. The quilt dropped to the bed, revealing her chaste, white nightgown. The Count’s eyes dropped to the wide collar which draped open revealing an obscene view of her plump breasts. She crawled forward until she was perched with her hands on his thigh and her face only inches away from his. She paused and looked into his eyes, questioningly. This was what he wanted of her, right?

In answer, Dracula closed the distance between their lips and captured her in a kiss with more heat and force than the one they’d shared earlier in the evening. His mouth was hard and forceful against hers and he pushed her back until she was laying beneath him on the thin mattress, pinned by his muscular body. He ravaged her mouth, laving his tongue against hers and dragging his sharp teeth across her lower lip. Emilie arched her whole body against his in response, desperate for more…more of him, more of his touches, more of his kiss. She felt his lips curve into a smug smile against hers but she didn’t care. She let out a needy mewl and cupped his face in her hands, never wanting this to end. His hips were flush with hers and she felt him hardening against her thigh. The sensation thrilled her and frightened her all at once. She had only a vague concept of how things worked between men and women in the bedroom and she worried that she didn’t know what to do to please him. Before she could dwell on that thought, though, he was pulling away from her and she let out a cry of protest.

“Shhh,” Dracula shushed her with a finger to her lips. His eyes glinted in interest at the sight of his index finger against her swollen mouth. He brushed the digit against her sensitive skin and delved it inside when she parted her lips with a sigh. Emilie squeaked at the invasion, but she obediently closed her mouth around his finger and stroked it with her tongue. She smiled with satisfaction as Dracula gasped in pleasure. 

“Now, now, my sweet girl,” he spoke with a ragged voice and removed his finger, dragging it along her chin and down her neck to leave a trail of her own saliva behind. “There’s no need to rush things. In fact I rather want to take my time with you.”

Emilie closed her eyes for a moment to regain her senses. The Count had kissed her senseless. She opened them again to find him gazing at her intensely.

“Are you feeling a little groggy, my dear?” he asked with a moue of concern.

Emilie nodded in reply, unable to find her words.

The Count looked thoughtful for a moment and then his gaze solidified as if he’d made a decision, “Well then, why don’t I give you something to drink to make you feel better.”

She watched as he drew a sharp claw along his own wrist, making a small cut that began to bleed. He moved his wrist, pressing it against her lips and allowing the blood to flow into her mouth.

“Now,” he urged with a smile of encouragement, “drink.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I've changed the rating on this fic to E for Explicit. There is SMUT in this chapter! You're welcome.

Emilie woke the next morning with the taste of Dracula’s blood on her lips and the lingering memory of his touch ghosting over her skin. The misery caused by his callous and cruel behavior at dinner was forgotten. A smile curled the edges of her lips as she opened her eyes to a new day. She mentally reviewed her task list. She would start by clearing the dining room and washing the soiled china in the scullery annex. Then her morning chores: dusting the downstairs rooms, sweeping the corridors. She’d been meaning to polish the silver candlesticks for sometime, perhaps she’d have time for that before nightfall. The Count tended to keep nocturnal hours, so she always waited until just before sunset to creep into his room and build up the fire in the hearth, refresh the water in his wash basin and put out fresh towels. In any other household these chores would be performed before dawn. 

She braced herself for the chill morning air and threw off her blankets in one swift movement. Just because her master kept late hours did not excuse her lying in bed late into the morning. It was difficult to adjust to the long hours when she first came to Carfax. Emilie woke at seven and frequently stayed up past midnight depending on the master’s plans. But she was accustomed to the schedule now and found it a bit of a comfort after the chaos and emotional confusion of the last couple days. 

She stood and grabbed a heavy knit shawl off the back of her rocking chair, pulling it tight around her narrow shoulders and moving to stand at her tiny window to enjoy the sight of the rising sun lighting the kitchen garden. The colors were somehow more vibrant this morning. The grass, trees and plants seemed to positively glow with verdant, pulsing green life. The sunlight crept over the earth and she could see its progress, inch by inch, with more clarity than she’d ever before experienced. Emilie had always been slightly near-sighted, but this morning she saw ever leaf and blade of grass with crisp definition. Not only that, she could smell the sweet scent of the morning dew dissipating into the warming air. Her senses were enchanted and she found herself lingering at the window for several minutes before finally shaking off the feeling and turning away. It was simply an extraordinarily beautiful morning, she reasoned with herself. Nothing more unusual than that. 

When she entered the dining room a little later she expected to find the dirty china from last night’s meal still set out on the table. But the table had been cleared and a fresh cloth laid out. There was nary a crumb or crumpled napkin left for her to tidy. She quirked her head and frowned in confusion for a second before her thoughts were interrupted by a haughty voice from the hallway behind her.

“Finally!” Miss Lucy strode into the dining room wearing the same gown she’d had on the night before. She’d tidied herself as best she could and looked well. She was a little pale, the flush of wine and seduction having faded from her cheeks, but otherwise she looked merely annoyed. “I’ve been waiting here for half an hour, don’t you serve breakfast for guests in this house? I’ll be informing the Count of this abysmal treatment you can be sure.”

Emilie cringed and rushed to the china cupboard to begin making a place setting for the Count’s guest, apologizing profusely as she worked.

“I-I’m sorry, Miss Lucy! Of course I’ll get you your breakfast directly. I didn’t…I didn’t realize you’d be staying overnight or else I would have had something prepared for you,” her words were sincere. Emilie took pride in her work and hated to be seen as lazy or inadequate. Her obvious fretting seemed to assuage the young aristocrat slightly.

“Very well,” she sniffed and took a seat at the table. “I’ll have fresh fruit and porridge. I prefer a light breakfast.”

 _Thank goodness for that,_ thought Emilie. She wouldn’t need to call for Cook at his little cottage on the outskirts of the Abbey’s park. She curtsied and apologized again before rushing down the discreet servant’s staircase to the kitchen.

Miss Lucy’s surly attitude persisted after breakfast and she kept Emilie on her toes all day with petty requests. Her morning chores went neglected as she made up Miss Lucy’s guest room, just next door to Dracula’s chamber she noted with a pang. Fresh linens, hair combs, water, dainty snacks and an order sent out to the village for spare dresses and shifts. Emilie did it all and was grateful, at least, that she was too busy to examine the jealous feelings that rose up within her at the thought of Miss Lucy spending another evening with Dracula.

Finally, as the sun lowered on the horizon, Emilie excused herself to tend to her master’s needs before he rose for the evening. Miss Lucy at least seemed to understand that Count Dracula would come first in this household despite her guest status.

Emilie left the guest in her room and stepped out into the corridor, heaving a great breath and leaning her weight into the wall for she feared she might simply collapse with fatigue both physical and mental. It wasn’t just that Miss Lucy was demanding and rude. She also insisted on making little pointed comments about the Count’s obvious admiration of her. Emilie worried that Miss Lucy was aware of her…feelings toward her master and delighted in hurting her. Perhaps she was reading too much into things. Perhaps Miss Lucy was simply jealous of anyone else who might have a claim on Count Dracula’s attention. A satisfied little smirk appeared on her lips before she quickly squashed it. Miss Lucy had no idea how much attention the Count paid to his housekeeper.

She entered the Count’s room silently and tiptoed across the plush oriental carpet balancing a pitcher of steaming water and a basket of kindling, fresh towels draped over her shoulders. She looked quite foolish but she managed. She got to work right away, bustling about the room while Dracula slept on. Once she’d finished all her tasks she stole a moment to look over at him, cold and still as the grave in his slumber. The lines of his face were smooth in repose and his sharp nailed hands rested over his stomach. Her mind flashed back to last night and the sight of him slicing into his own skin with one wickedly sharp claw, the feeling of his hot blood dripping onto her lips, sliding down her throat. 

Emilie’s feet moved of their volition carrying her to the master’s bedside. She looked down on him with adoration written plainly on her face. Her hand hovered over his and she bit her lip fearful of being discovered but unable to resist settling her palm over his clasped hands. They were cool to the touch and she willed her own warmth to flow into him and feed his spirit. 

“Really, Emilie, I’m quite shocked,” the Count’s sardonic voice whipped her out of her reverie and she took a step back from the bed, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry, Count–milord,” she stammered, voice trembling with nerves. He had wrapped his body around hers only last night, ravishing her with kisses. But she still felt impertinent and untoward, a servant daring to aspire to her master’s affections.

Dracula sat up against the headboard and she realized with a shiver that he wasn’t wearing a nightshirt. His broad, muscular shoulders and dark-haired chest were bare to her. Emilie lowered her gaze and clasped her hands before her, the perfect image of a prim housekeeper awaiting orders.

The Count smirked and patted the bed beside him, “No need to be sorry, little one. Come here, won’t you?”

Emilie stood frozen for a long moment, her warring thoughts apparent on her face. She should not let this continue. Miss Lucy was getting dressed at this very moment for another evening of debauched seduction with the Count. It was entirely inappropriate. What would her grandmother say?

Dracula’s voice turned cold and he commanded, “Come here. Now.”

She snapped into action and scurried up onto the bed beside him. Despite her nerves and qualms she had the presence of mind to enjoy the ultra plush feel of his feather mattress so much more luxurious than her simple bed. She sat primly beside him, hanging her feet over the side so as not to dirty the blankets with her shoes. 

Dracula watched her with eyes lit in amusement. He snaked an arm behind her and hugged her against his bare chest. Emilie gasped as she felt a flame of heat light up her core. Being so close to him had an undeniable effect on her. 

“Don’t tell me you’re still shy with me, little one?” he teased, walking his fingers up her leg and settling his hand flat against her thigh. “Not after last night?”

“Milord,” she whispered, trembling under his gaze, “it’s not proper. I am a servant…”

The Count shushed her and he tugged at the fabric of her skirt, raising the hem and dipping his hand underneath to skim along the smooth skin of her thighs. Emilie couldn’t help a muted moan of pleasure at the sudden contact. 

“Emilie, I want you to call me Vlad. When we are alone together. Can you do that?” his voice was cool and matter-of-fact even as his fingers danced over her inner thighs and crept upward.

“Yes,” she breathed in response to his question or perhaps merely to encourage his hand between her legs. “Vlad.”

Dracula smiled and plunged his hand upward, pressing the heel of his palm against her and stimulating her sensitive clitoris through the thin fabric of her drawers. Emilie gave a rather undignified shout and he leaned down, touching his cheek to hers and whispering into her ear, “Good girl.”

He loomed over her, naked and humming with masculine energy. His hand cupped her sex and he pistoned his wrist to grind his palm against her over and over again eliciting little hiccups of pleasure from his inexperienced young housekeeper. She squirmed against him, arching her back and bucking her hips against his hand. Dracula brought his forearm down across her chest to keep her pinned in place. 

He watched her face, the pretty blush of blood rushing beneath her pale skin, the artery in her neck dancing with the pump of her racing heartbeat. He felt his fangs elongate and saliva pool in his mouth. He descended on her then, biting into her lower lip and growling in pleasure at the small stream of intoxicating blood that flowed into the kiss. He tore the waistband of her drawers away and dove his hand inside to brush over her bare skin. He inserted one elegant, long finger inside her, delighting in her startled squeak. He pumped into her as he sucked the blood from her lips, all the while barely containing the animalistic blood lust raging to be unleashed. When he thought he could resist no more he felt Emilie’s thighs clamp down on his wrist and the pulse of her muscles as she reached her climax. 

He pulled away from the kiss and watched her face in fascination. Gone were her charming little worries about impropriety. The girl was lost to wanton pleasure. She locked her arms around his neck in a fierce hug as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Dracula slowly removed his hand from between her legs and patted down her skirt in deference to her feminine modesty. He lay beside her on the pillow and watched her heaving breast and half closed eyes. _She is perfect_ , he thought to himself, idly drawing his wrist up to his lips and grazing a razor sharp fang across the skin. _Or…she will be perfect, once I’m finished with her._

“Come now, darling,” he cooed, cradling her head and bringing her lips up to kiss against his wrist. “It’s time for a little drink.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emilie finally sees behind the curtain and learns her master's true nature. Then he offers her a choice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating the tags, but please take NOTE: this chapter features character death (murder) and dub con. I'm tagging for dub con because by this point Miss Lucy is entranced and in a weakened state. Dracula does not have sex with her, but he does kiss and embrace her with dubious consent (in addition to...you know......the blood drinking). So, please don't read if this is something you want to avoid.
> 
> And I really want to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has commented and left kudos. You really don't know how much it means to me. I'm blessed to have kind and enthusiastic readers. I hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Over the course of the week Emilie watched Miss Lucy decline into ill health. She continued to spend each evening in the Count’s company but her peels of laughter and garish flirting gradually faded into listless compliance. She was like a rag doll silently accepting his touch and only occasionally offering a whispered response to his words. Emilie was still forced to stand and watch as the Count showered the young woman with kisses and tender caresses. He hadn’t made any more overtures toward Emilie and she was miserable with the belief that Dracula…Vlad… was satisfying his desires with Miss Lucy instead. Each night he would send her away at the point when his fervor seemed about to reach its zenith. And Emilie would retire to her room to spend another sleepless night imagining the two of them locked in embrace.

One night the Count paused as he entered the dining room and regarded Miss Lucy slumped at the table with her eyes half-closed and her head lulling on her shoulders.

“Oh, Lucy,” he tutted in a saccharine voice, “you’re almost done, aren’t you?”

The girl lifted her head but offered no verbal response. Emilie shifted uncomfortably in the corner of the room. She’d seen Dracula’s house guests reach this point before. She’d never understood what it was he did to them that seemed to drain away their spirit. Now, pressing her tongue against the freshly healed cut on her lower lip, she had an idea.

Dracula turned to Emilie, catching her gaze with a devious smile, “Do you want to watch tonight, Emilie? Do you want to fully understand your master?”

He walked toward her, stepping into her personal space and looming over her. His height and powerful frame dwarfed her petite stature. She felt a shiver run up her spine that was both fear and longing. Fear at being so close to this man who was an admitted creature of darkness. Longing to be closer still. With a flash of nerve Emilie stepped forward into his arms, pressing herself against his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. She inhaled the spicy scent of him and closed her eyes to savor the embrace. 

Dracula raised his hands, cupping her face and forcing her to meet his gaze, “Answer me, Emilie.”

She trembled like a leaf in his hands but slowly nodded her head, “Yes, milord…Vlad?”

She wasn’t sure if she was permitted to use his given name in the presence of Miss Lucy, but the girl was barely conscious at this point so she took the chance. Dracula smiled and took her hand, leading her to the table and pulling out a chair for her directly across from his victim. 

“Watch closely, darling,” he instructed, moving around the table to take his customary spot beside Lucy. He gathered the girl in his arms, holding her gently to his chest and stroking his fingers along the side of her face until she roused enough to look up at him with fluttering lashes. 

“Miss Lucy,” he spoke in a soft, solicitous tone, “you’ve done so well. You’ve been such a good girl for me so far. You just have a little more to go and then you can rest. How does that sound?”

She smiled beatifically up at him, preening at the praise. Emilie felt her heart catch in her throat. She watched the scene with eyes wide in disbelief of what she was about to witness. 

The Count flicked his eyes up to her and then back down to Lucy, “That’s it, Lucy. Now…can you tell me what you’d like to dream about tonight? Pick something…perfect.”

He watched the sickly girl as she opened her lips to mutter a reply so quiet that Emilie couldn’t make out the words. But the Count had no trouble and he nodded with a smile that reached his eyes and seemed to speak of gratitude and affection.

“Yes,” he said, fangs elongating and his eyes going dark with blood lust, “that’s a good one.”

A red halo formed around his irises, filling the whites of his eyes. He gave an unearthly snarl as he tightened his hold on the girl and dove forward, attacking her neck. Emilie’s mouth fell open and she clapped a hand over it lest she scream in terror. She flinched backward and watched with horrified fascination as Dracula tore into the girl and drained the last drops of her life’s blood. Lucy gave a weak, pained cry at first but she quickly subsided into soft little grunts of pleasure and then silence. The Count’s perfectly coiffed black hair obscured the carnage, but Emilie could hear the squelching, liquid sounds of his teeth shredding the skin of Lucy’s neck.

When he had drunk his fill Dracula raised his head and captured Emilie’s gaze. She shuddered but didn’t dare look away. His eyes were red and his mouth and chin were stained with dark arterial blood. Lucy’s limp body dangled from his arms. He slowly licked his lips, obviously savoring the taste of the blood and all the while holding Emilie in his intense stare. She felt tears welling and finally managed to rip her eyes away from his gaze.

Dracula shifted in his seat and looked down at the small, frail form that had once been Miss Lucy Steele. He stroked his hand along the side of her face lovingly. Then he gave a flippant sigh, grasped the girl’s head between his palms and cleanly snapped her neck before dropping her to the floor. His eyes faded back to normal and he sat back in his seat, crossing his legs and delicately plucking a napkin from the table to wipe the blood off his chin. He looked the picture of sophistication and charm as he regarded Emilie with a quizzical lift of his brows.

“Well,” he remarked, “now you truly understand your master, don’t you, darling?”

Emilie’s lips parted as if she meant to respond but words failed her. She remembered the intoxicating sensation of him sucking her blood and wondered, vaguely, if Lucy had felt the same. If she’d died with that pleasure firing her nerve endings. She hoped so.

Dracula abruptly stood and moved around the table to take the chair beside her. Emilie drew back in fear, still seeing the demonic face before her eyes, the blood and violence of only a moment before was thick in the air. He saw the fear in her eyes and in her posture and frowned with concern.

“Now, darling,” he said, winding his arms around her and pulling her into his lap. He rocked her gently and hummed soothingly into her hair. “ _You_ have nothing to fear from me.”

Emilie felt the tension in her muscles gradually fade as she sank into his arms and leaned her head on his shoulder. It felt good to be held, to be cared for. The shock of witnessing an act of such casual violence had flooded her with adrenaline and she shook and twitched with the after effects. It was wrong. She _knew_ it was wrong to take comfort in the arms of a murderer, a _vampire_. But she was already too far gone. She felt the warmth of stolen blood emanate from his body and marveled in the miracle of one soul feeding another. She didn’t truly know if she _was_ safe with this man. But she wanted to believe it.

When the trembling in her muscles finally passed and her breathing evened out he leaned back to look into her tear streaked face, gently wiping her cheeks and placing a chaste kiss to her forehead.

“You’ll go to bed,” he instructed, words hushed. “And tomorrow will be Sunday. You’ll go into town to visit your family as you always do. And while you’re there…you can decide. Decide if you want to come back to me, sweet girl. You do have a choice. I’m not unreasonable.”

He dipped his face toward hers and brushed her lips with a soft kiss.

“But Emilie…I _do_ hope you’ll come back to me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you for all your lovely, encouraging comments and kudos! Those comments really keep fic authors going! Enjoy!

Emilie tugged at the high collar of her Sunday dress and shifted self-consciously in the pew. Her younger sister, Anna, shot her a questioning look to which she merely shook her head in reply. Emilie usually took solace in the weekly sermon but this Sunday she was restless and incapable of attending to the Reverend’s words. 

Her nerves tingled and her senses were aflame. The light streaming through the stained glass window behind the pulpit was nearly blinding in its intensity. Emilie could taste the colors on her tongue, the sweet, tart reds and fresh, watery blues. The wood grain of the pew beneath her hands was distracting as well. She felt it vibrating with life and saw, in her mind’s eye, the rough bark and shuddering leaves of the tree from which it came. And there was the phantom taste of Vlad’s blood filling her mouth. She knew, without knowing how, that he’d given her this new power, these sharpened senses. Was this how he always experienced the world? It was overwhelming. Emilie closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the pew to ground herself.

It did little to help. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Lucy Steele’s bright eyes go dull with death, the shocking splash of blood painting the side of her neck. She heard the sharp, horrifying crunch of the girl’s vertebrae snapping. And she saw Vlad, her beloved Count, eyes red with menace and blood dripping from his razor sharp teeth. How could she love such a man, such a creature? For love him she did. She could admit that here, in the house of God where she must be true to herself. 

Maybe she was selfish but she found that she couldn’t forget his loving caress, the gentle brush of his fingers over her skin. She recalled his words, _You have nothing to fear from me._ How could she turn her heart against such a man? A man so magnificent, with powers beyond her imagining, who somehow–impossibly–wanted her? The answer came from within: a voice, perhaps her own or perhaps a guardian angel’s, which rang out in her mind, _You will not turn away from him._

She did not know where this path would lead. Perhaps one day it would be she hanging limp in his arms and beaming up at his darling face, gratified to give her life to feed him. Or…or perhaps she’d stand by his side, no longer a servant but an equal with marvelous powers of her own. She did not know if such a thing were possible but she felt in her bones that she was fated to give herself over to him. The decision, once made, lifted a burden from her chest and she smiled up at the pulpit. Lit from within by the grace of her own certainty that God would not lead her to the Count if He did not wish for them to be together.

It never occurred to her to consider her love of the Count as a test from God. No god could be so cruel.

***

“Now, my sweet girl, tell me how things are going up at Carfax and don’t try to sugarcoat things. I’m your mother and I can tell when you’re lying. Are you alright up there by yourself with the Count?” Mrs. Andrews patted her eldest daughter’s hand across the dinner table and watched her with concern. Her poor health had kept her from ever personally serving Count Dracula, but she knew his nature as well as her mother had and she feared for Emilie.

“Mama,” Emilie soothed in a voice infused with false confidence, “you don’t need to worry about me. The Count is very solicitous for my comfort. I’m in no danger from him… _really._ ”

Mrs. Andrews held her gaze for a long moment and Emilie sensed that her mother did not quite believe her, but she soon lowered her eyes and let the moment pass. After all–was there really a point in forcing the topic? Their family had served Count Dracula for a hundred years. They’d kept the secret of his long life and dark appetites in exchange for protection and financial security. None of them could rescind the deal now. And in truth, Emilie did look remarkably well. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy with a healthy glow. Mrs. Andrews set her worries aside and proceeded to catch her daughter up on all the village goings on of the previous week.

***

It was dark by the time the wagon rolled to a stop by the Abbey’s servants’ entrance. Emilie hopped off the back and thanked Mr. Thomas for the ride. He brought her back each Sunday along with the weekly grocery delivery. It was convenient for Emilie and Mr. Thomas had been shameless flirting with Mrs. Andrews for years, so he didn’t mind the extra weight in the wagon if it put him in the widow’s good graces.

“Have a good week, Miss Emilie!” he called as she dashed off to the servants’ door and disappeared inside. 

She was eager to see her Count. Her mind whirled with questions as she climbed the staircase to the Abbey’s first floor. _How would he react when he saw her and knew of her decision to return to him? Would he kiss her again? Embrace her? Would he dip his head into the crook of her neck and bite her as he had Miss Lucy?_

She found him in his study, a massive room with vaulted ceilings and walls lined with books. He sat in a wing back chair before the fire. Emilie stood in the doorway watching him. She could see only the side of his pale face, his lovely, thick hair and his hand dangling over the armrest, holding a glass goblet filled with something rich, dark and red.

She strode forward, discarding the small drawstring bag she’d carried with her into town and whirling round the chair to present herself before him. She knelt between his knees, a supplicant before her god, and looked up at him with hope and affection glowing in her features. She longed for comfort, for a confirmation that she’d made the right decision. 

She reached out shyly and took one of his hands in her own, pressing it to her cheek and closing her eyes, reveling in the contact.

“My…Vlad,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek into his palm like a cat demanding affection. “I’ve come back to you.”

Dracula smiled down at her, setting the goblet on a small table beside the chair and reaching forward to stroke both hands through her hair, cupping her upturned face. 

“My Emilie,” he responded with a playful lilt to his voice, mirroring her word choice. “You’ve made me very happy.”

And then he was pushing her backward and onto the plush hearthrug. He followed her onto the floor caging her body with his arms and legs and bending down to press his lips to hers in a fevered kiss. His clawed hands strayed over the bodice of her conservative dress, pushing under the collar and stroking her delicate neck, the tops of her breasts. Emilie mewled in pleasure and arched her back, giving him the access he needed to reach around and begin popping open the buttons that ran down her spine holding the frock in place. 

When he’d reached the final button he sat back, kneeling between her wantonly spread legs and shoved the dress material down toward her waist. She wiggled to assist him and she was soon laying before him in nothing but her stockings and thin muslin petticoat. Her breasts were exposed, glowing in the orange light of the fire and she saw Vlad’s eyes focus on them as they heaved with her gasping breath. He reached out a hand and drew a wickedly sharp nail around her areola, flicking the nipple and eliciting a thrill of panicked pleasure from the debauched girl beneath him. Emilie reeled at the sensation even as she feared the sharp touch of his nails wounding her sensitive flesh.

“Be…” she gasped, trembling as he shifted his attention to her other breast, “…careful….please.”

Vlad smirked and let out an amused chuckle. He flattened his palm over her breast and dragged the calloused skin against her hardened nipple. Emilie shrieked in pleasure and arched into the touch. 

“Don’t worry, my darling creature.”

The Count made quick work of his own clothes, tossing them into a heap on the armchair before turning back to face her, naked and glorious in his ferocious lust. He grabbed the waist of her petticoat and ripped it from her body. Emilie gazed up at him in adoration. She’d never seen a naked man before and she was too shy to let her eyes stray downward at first. Instead she raked her gaze over his broad shoulders, his dark-haired chest and flat stomach. He took satisfaction in letting her look, pausing to let her complete her perusal. He quirked his lips as her gaze finally lowered to take in the impressive length of pulsing manhood that jutted from between his legs. A shadow of trepidation crossed her face and Dracula determined immediately to sooth it away. He crawled up her naked body and looked deep into her eyes.

“I will be so careful with you, Emilie. Do you trust me?” his voice was husky with lust but his words were sincere. 

Emilie reached up to cup her hand over his cheek and nodded shyly, “I trust you, Vlad.”

He touched her then, like he had days ago in his bedroom. His fingers slid over her sensitive core and Emilie ached with longing and pleasure. She buried her face in his neck and keened into his skin, begging and begging him though she couldn’t say for certain what she wanted.

Vlad smiled and licked his hot tongue along her neck from jaw to shoulder, “You’re a needy thing aren’t you, little one?”

He continued stroking her, savoring her little grunts and moans. She finally came with a thready cry and only then did he shift his hips between her legs and align himself with her opening. She felt the tantalizing pressure of his length pressing against her and then slowly, slowly entering. It hurt at first. Emilie’s muscles went rigid at the intrusion and her face scrunched up in pain. Dracula stilled his movement and looked down at her, laying soft kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids.

“Look at me, darling,” he whispered, waiting until she’d opened her eyes to continue. “Relax.”

The last word was said with the barest trace of suggestion and Emilie felt the tension immediately flow out of her muscles. Dracula started up again, thrusting his hips with masterful control and holding her face between his palms as he did so. He kept eye contact with her as the pain slowly faded and her belly began to heat with pleasure once more. He bit his lip and arched his back. His control slipped and he began rocking into her with more force, his tempo stuttering into ragged thrusts until he finally shouted his release and dove his face into the crook of her neck to bite down as his cock shuddered and jolted within her.

The sudden sting as his fangs pierced her skin was immediately followed by a rush of pleasure that pushed her over the edge again. Dracula licked, sucked and kissed her bloodied neck, drawing out more blood from her than he had before. She squirmed and moaned beneath him, riding waves of pleasure even as her head spun from the blood loss. Too soon he pulled away, his lips and chin were stained crimson. With a wicked grin he dipped his mouth to hers and pushed his tongue inside. Emilie tasted her own blood on his lips, his tongue. She twined her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and held him there, wishing to prolong the kiss forever. Eventually he pulled away panting with passion and blood lust. 

“Now you know how sweet you taste, my darling girl,” he said, dipping his finger into the blood at her neck and smearing it over her mouth. Emilie stuck out her tongue and licked his finger as her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh, dear Emilie, you’re weak aren’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer he brought his finger to the base of his own neck and cut a two inch slit. Blood poured from the wound and he dipped down, baring his neck to her and pressing the cut against her lips. Emilie latched on immediately. She drank the blood he offered, reveling in the idea of her blood rushing through his veins even as she drank from him. She felt the dizziness of only a moment before pass and a wave of energy and strength coursed through her. Her Count was nourishing her with his essence, feeding her just as she had fed him. 

He pulled away before she could take too much, pinching the would closed and laying back on the floor beside her. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close to his side, stroking her hair and whispering words of praise into her temple as he laid kisses along the top of her head. Emilie’s eyes grew heavier and heavier until she finally fell asleep, wrapped in her beloved’s arms and warmed by the snug fire in the hearth. They looked like a pair of pagan lovers: nude, covered in blood and skin aglow in the firelight. 

Dracula looked down at her sleeping face and whispered, “You really are remarkable, Emilie. You’ll be my perfect bride.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an interlude for angst, feelings and some talky-talk about blood sharing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always so gratified and flattered that are people who exist who not only enjoy reading my writing but also care enough to leave comments, questions, and kudos! You guys give me life!

“Vlad? Will I…will I get sick like the others? Like Lucy?” **  
**

Emilie lay in Count Dracula’s bed, her head pillowed on his chest, a bright red splash of blood staining the side of her neck. Dracula tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Of course not, darling!” he dismissed her concern with a casual, confident tone. “You’re not like the others. I never gave any of them my blood. The power of my blood courses through your veins, it protects you.”

Emilie nodded up at him though her expression was still troubled.

The Count scoffed, “Listen to me. Tell me what you feel when you taste my blood, what you see. Here, take it.”

He made a cut in his wrist and brought it up to her lips, urging her to drink. Emilie automatically leaned in to suckle. By now the fact of blood drinking was almost routine for her. It had been an element of her love affair with Count Dracula from the beginning. Weeks had passed since they first made love in front of the fireplace and he continued to feed her while taking small amounts of her blood for himself. Emilie had yet to grow sick and weak as the others did. But she believed it was only a matter of time. The fact that she was still willing to give herself to Dracula, believing as she did that it would eventually kill her, was a mark of her devotion.

She clung to his wrist, holding it against her mouth and lapping up the blood. The feeling was overwhelming. Each time she drank from him she felt like she was a part of him, her master. She sensed his consciousness like a force pressing against her own. The shadows of his thoughts, his emotions, swirled around inside her mind. Chaotic and intoxicating.

“Tell me, Emilie,” Dracula commanded. “What do you feel? What do you see?

She pulled away from his wrist, an expression of serenity smoothing over her lovely face. Dracula regarded her with awe, she was like a fallen angel with lips stained red.

Her eyes remained closed as she answered, “I…I feel _you_. I can feel your thoughts, your emotions, like gusts of wind passing over me.”

Dracula smiled and smoothed his hand through her hair, praising her, “Very good. What else? Can you see anything?”

She scrunched her face in concentration, “I see…snow. A field covered in snow. It’s glowing under the moonlight. Blood stains…pools of blood everywhere. It’s a battlefield.”

“That’s excellent, Emilie! You’re a prodigy!”

She opened her eyes and met his with confusion written on her face, “I don’t understand. What was that? How could I see that place? I’ve never been there.”

“No, you have not,” the Count drew her close once more. “But I have. You saw one of my memories. Bosnia…1476. It was a bloody day but we carried it.”

Emilie watched her Count’s face as he spoke. There was an unfamiliar tone of wistful nostalgia in his voice that she’d never heard before. A different kind of blood lust, she supposed. More human.

“But how, Vlad?” she urged.

“My blood. It makes you stronger, gives you powers that mirror my own. Your senses have heightened, right? It also creates a bond between us. You can feel me, sense my thoughts and feelings just as I can yours.”

It sounded magical. For all the horror and violence associated with the vampire this one thing was…miraculous. Emilie closed her eyes again and reached out, willing her spirit to brush against his. _There._ She felt it, the ringing trill of his amusement floating through the air between them. She opened her eyes and gazed up at him in wonder.

“It is real!”

“Of course it is, sweetheart. And you’re the first person in over four hundred years with whom I’ve shared this. It’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

Emilie preened at Dracula’s words and nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck loving the cool brush of skin, the scent of their lovemaking still hanging in the air around them.

“Vlad,” she ventured, a mischievous grin spreading on her lips, “do you know that I love you?”

Dracula’s lips quirked in a smug grin and he arched an impudent eyebrow at her, “Your blood sings with it.”

Emilie blushed, embarrassed to be so easily read, “How does it taste?”

Dracula shifted onto his side and drew back a little to fully face her, cupping her cheeks in his hands and looking deep into her eyes, “It tastes like…like those little butterflies you get in your stomach when you’re nervous. Like the heat of blood beneath your cheeks when you blush so prettily. It tastes like warm sunshine and soft kisses. It tastes…wonderful.”

Emilie felt tears prick her eyes at his words. She covered his hands in hers and delved on ahead, “And do you love me?”

She opened her psyche then, willing herself to feel his thoughts, his feelings at that moment. But before she could analyze the swell of emotion she felt from within him, he was already responding in a clipped matter-of-fact tone, “No, darling. I’m afraid not.”

Emilie felt as though a shard of ice had suddenly pierced her heart. She’d known, of course, that Dracula was not human. That he wasn’t governed by the same laws and feelings as humanity. But she hadn’t realized how much she’d mistaken thanks to her own human bias.

Dracula watched her brows furrowed in pain and confusion and though he would not admit to feelings he considered to be beneath his dignity, he also did not wish to see his darling little belonging suffer.

He nuzzled his cheek against hers and ran soothing hands down her naked back.

“Now, now,” he cooed. “Love is simply not in my nature, Emilie. I admire you. I adore watching you come undone, tasting your innocence even as I pull you into the shadows with me. I’ve enjoyed you. And I don’t wish for us to be parted. Ever. Isn’t that enough? Really, what is love? A soft, fragile thing that weakens men and keeps them at home when they should be glorying, feasting on life and death.”

Emilie clung to the Count, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back as if to hold him there. For she feared if she let go that he would suddenly fly away from her, abandoning her after she’d forfeited all of her human morals to be with him. She let out a single sob before burying her face into the crook of his neck. Tears fell from her eyes and onto his neck. Dracula continued to hold her and whisper soothing nothings into her hair. 

Emilie sniffed and batted at her eyes. She tried to reason with herself. The Count said he never wished to be apart. If that were true then there was no danger of him abandoning her and she could go on loving him even if he didn’t return her feelings, couldn’t she? She already fed him with her blood, she would feed him her love as well. And maybe he did not have the strength yet to offer anything in return. That didn’t mean he might not learn to love her as she had learned to accept his ways.

Her voice was ragged as she whispered, “My Dracula, if you will let me love you and keep you then that is all I want.”

Dracula grinned down at her, his razor sharp teeth gleaming in the light of the fire, “Then I am yours, little one. Just as you are mine.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emilie falls ill. Dracula freaks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy! This chapter was probably the hardest one for me to write so far. It didn't flow as well as the others--I really hope it works.

The fever came on suddenly. Emilie woke as she always did at seven o’clock, in apparent good health. Instead of her old, spartan room in the servants’ wing, she woke to the dark luxury of the Count’s bedroom. She’d slept there since making her decision to return and give herself over to him entirely. Falling asleep in Vlad’s strong arms, feeling the threat of his vampiric power held in check as he cradled her fragile form… it was a deeper intimacy than drinking his blood or making love. He was hesitant to indulge her at first, explaining that a sleeping vampire was a dangerous bed mate. She must not disturb him lest he wake in a blood frenzy and harm her.

“I trust you, Vlad,” she answered him, snuggling deeper into his arms and closing her eyes for sleep. “You won’t hurt me.”

And she was right. It was weeks since they started sharing sleeping quarters and Emilie never felt unsafe with him. She shifted to her side, eyes still blurry with sleep, and watched her Count in his unnerving slumber. He lay on his back, his hands resting on his chest, cold and still as the grave. Once she’d found him terrifying, she could hardly stand in the same room with him without shivering in fear. Now she was drawn to him, she worshiped him as her dark god, longed for him always. She squirmed closer to him, pressing her warm body against him and nuzzling his pale, cold cheek. Dracula’s lips parted in a snarl and he let out a soft, hissing growl but remained otherwise still. Emilie smiled, she knew it was playing with fire, but some part of her reveled in being this close to danger.

With a final brush of her cheek against his, she crept from the warmth of the blankets and over to the wardrobe to dress for the day. The Count had ordered new dresses made for her. She ran her fingers along the rack of frocks, delighting in the feel of the rich fabrics before settling on her everyday work dress. It was warm and comfortable. She would change before Dracula rose for the evening. He enjoyed seeing his little housekeeper dressed up in finery. But it wasn’t exactly practical for chores.

Emilie still performed her duties as housekeeper. She rose early each day, tidied the Count’s room and saw that the rest of the mansion was well-kept. There was no one else to do these things and Emilie did not see the work as beneath her despite the change in her relationship with her master. Halfway through the morning she began to feel unwell. A deep cough settled in her throat, her nose began to run and chills wracked her frame. She was very near fainting by noontime and, not knowing what else to do in the big empty house, staggered up the stairs to Dracula’s bedroom. He lay just as she’d left him, statue-like in his repose. Emilie stumbled toward the bed and collapsed forward, reaching to him for help.

***

 _Blood. Hot, pulsing blood. Fevered skin and fluttering heartbeat. Prey._ The beast within Count Dracula stirred and his eyes shot open already clouded in the haze of his blood frenzy. He sat up, the covers falling away from his naked chest. Dracula turned to see the prey: a young woman laid out for him like a sacrifice. He scented the air and opened his mouth in a snarl of anticipation. _Emilie._ Of course, his sweet little concubine presenting herself for him. It was right that she should do so. She was made to be his, to feed him with her life. 

He bent over her prostrate form and grabbed her up in a rough embrace. Emilie’s head fell to the side, limp, exposing the pale expanse of beautiful neck. He could see her erratic pulse pumping away beneath her smooth skin. Dracula acted on instinct, dipping forward and tearing into her neck with his razor sharp teeth.

For a moment it was bliss. She was all sweet innocence, devotion, love. Then the blood turned sour in his mouth and he reared back, gagging. The shock banished his blood lust and Dracula’s eyes faded into alertness. He looked down at Emilie lying pale and lifeless in his arms, blood gushing from a wound in her throat and he felt his stomach sink.

He dropped her onto the bed spread, hands hovering useless over her form and he called to her in a voice brittle with anxiety, “Emilie…darling…. _Wake up_.”

He infused the last words with a powerful shot of vampiric suggestion and it did the trick. Emilie rolled onto her side, smearing the sheets in her own blood and moaning in pain.

“Vlad!” she cried, reaching for him.

He gripped her arms and turned her onto her back, eyes flicking over her form and making rapid assessments. He hadn’t taken as much blood as he’d feared. He brought a shaking hand to his mouth, dragging his tongue over his fingers and rubbing the saliva into the wound. The wound in her neck closed over. But there was something else the matter with her.

Dracula smacked his lips together recalling the foul taste he’d never encountered from her before. Sickness. Fever. His mind raced back to a few nights prior. She’d returned home early from her weekly visit to her family. There was a fever going round the village and her mother didn’t think it wise for her to linger too long. 

_No_ , Dracula thought furiously, watching his precious Emilie writhe in pain as sweat beaded on her brow and her cheeks flushed unnaturally red. He was so close. _So_ close to at last readying her for the change. He’d built her up, feeding her his blood for weeks to lend her body and mind the strength she’d need to make a successful transition. The thought of his sweet girl becoming like one of his earlier botched attempts at brides…it was unacceptable. He’d taken every precaution. To have her felled now, by a pathetic human sickness. It was unbearable. But the Count was powerless. To drain her now and initiate the change would be suicide.

He must call for a doctor. The decision firmed in his mind but he glanced at the antique grandfather clock in the corner and found it was still afternoon. He couldn’t venture from the house until after dark. Fury overtook him once more but he pushed it away, determined to do what he could to care for her until such time as the Cook arrived to prepare dinner or night fell.

***

He tucked her into her bed in the servants’ wing. He’d dressed her in a long, woolen nightgown and cleaned the blood spatter from her neck. It galled him to keep her in this room which was so decidedly beneath the station of his future bride, but appearances must be kept up and the doctor would soon arrive. As luck had it, Cook had arrived just as Dracula was descending the servant’s staircase carrying the limp girl in his arms. 

The elderly Mr. Carlilse jumped backward with a hand on his chest at the sight, “What have yeh done to her, yeh fiend?!”

Count Dracula rolled his eyes in annoyance and hissed his reply, “Absolutely nothing, you idiot. Miss Emilie is unwell. She needs a doctor. Run into town and fetch one. Quickly! And shut the door behind you!”

Emilie gave a pitiful moan of protest as he lay a cool cloth on her forehead. Her body was wracked with shivers but she was burning with fever. Dracula’s eyes rolled back in his head for a moment at the smell of her blood boiling with fever. He slammed his eyes shut to banish the wave of desire.

“I know, darling. But we need to break your fever,” she swatted the hand holding the cloth weakly.

Close to dusk the doctor finally arrived. He brought with him a small entourage made up of Mr. Carlisle and Emilie’s mother, Mrs. Andrews. Dracula beheld them all with a feeling of mild annoyance but ultimate acceptance. They stood crowded in the doorway to Emilie’s bedroom, all of them clearly fearful of approaching the Count. Motherly love finally won the day, though, and Mrs. Andrews broke the spell by rushing forward and kneeling at her daughter’s bedside. She brushed right past the Count as if he were not the dark creature of her childhood nightmares. Dracula looked down at her in bemusement before beckoning the doctor inside and sending Mr. Carlisle away.

The doctor did a cursory examination of the girl. Emilie tossed weakly in delirium as the older man bent over her holding a handkerchief to his mouth and nodding authoritatively. After a few minutes he withdrew and, catching the Count’s eyes, nodded toward the doorway. Dracula and Mrs. Andrews followed him out into the hallway and stood before him in nervous anticipation. Had he not been so concerned, Dracula might have laughed at the scene they presented. A Mother and Son-in-Law anxiously awaiting news from the doctor. But he had no capacity for humor at the moment. 

The doctor slowly shook his head as he explained, “She is in danger. It’s the flu we’ve seen run through the village. Most cases I’ve seen that reach this stage of delirium have been fatal. I’m sorry. There’s nothing to be done but to keep her comfortable. Offer her plenty to drink and keep applying cool compresses. With luck she’ll survive the fever.”

Dracula glared down at the man, probing the fragile barrier to his thoughts. The man’s eyes glazed over for a moment as Dracula plundered his mind before withdrawing in disgust. All he’d found was concern and pity. What had he expected, really. A miracle? A blessing from God for him, a man who had spent his unnaturally long life seeding evil and misery?

The doctor left and Dracula watched, numbly, as Mrs. Andrew’s took up a place at Emilie’s bedside, holding the girl’s hand and murmuring softly to her. He stood rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the loving scene before him but not truly seeing it. His thoughts raced. He could feel Emilie’s pain, her wretchedness. He could feel her calling out for him to save her. But what could he do? How could he fight such a mundane enemy? The tastes of blood he’d given to Emilie were enough to invigorate her, strengthen her, but they would not be enough for this. She’d need more. Much more.

Dracula stepped into the tiny bedroom. He loomed over Mrs. Andrews, dark and menacing, and placed a clawed hand on her shoulder. The woman tensed beneath his touch but raised her eyes to meet him with a level gaze. _She’s brave_ , he thought, _Like her._ All the Andrews women were brave, he supposed. After all they descended from the first housekeeper to survive longer than a year in his employ.

“Mrs. Andrews, I’d like to ask you to leave the room for a moment. If you don’t mind,” his voice was all smooth, gentleman-like manners, but she regarded him with suspicion.

“Why?” she dared to ask. He could hear her heart rate accelerating, see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Still, she stood up and attempted to glare at him–no easy feat since she was just as short as her daughter and stood more than a foot lower than he did.

Dracula took her firmly by the shoulders and directed her toward the door with gentle but persistent force.

“I assure you, Mrs. Andrews. I want to help your daughter. But I don’t think you’ll wish to see this, now if you please,” he pushed her out into the hallway and shut the door after her. He paused a beat, waiting to see if the woman would force her way back inside. But she seemed to have better sense than that. 

Emilie lay senseless on the bed. She drew in ragged, pitiful breaths that rattled her whole frame. Dracula moved forward, sitting beside her on the tiny mattress and brushing a strand of hair off her sweat slicked forehead. _My poor Emilie,_ he thought. It had been a very, very long time since Count Dracula had felt such anguish, such…heartache. Not since before he’d turned down the dark path of immortality. The feelings were foreign and unwelcome. He didn’t have the mental clarity to analyze them right now, though. Emilie needed him. 

In a swift, decisive motion he brought his wrist up to his mouth and opened his veins for the young woman who had somehow laid a claim to his soul simply by accepting him and desiring him. He pressed the wound to her lips and waited anxiously as the blood began to flow into her mouth. After a long few seconds Emilie’s eyelids fluttered and she pursed her lips, latching on and beginning to drink the blood that he offered her. He felt his essence draining into her. His history, his secrets, his shames. _Blood is lives_ and Dracula’s blood was a heady mixture of over four hundred years of experiences, dreams, victims, and emotions. He felt it all flowing into her as she drank. He’d never given anyone else the gift of his blood, not in all his centuries of living. Now he gave more than he’d ever given before, feeling his energy flag as she drank more and more until he was drained nearly dry. At the final moment, when Dracula’s heart froze with the icy nearness of death long averted, he pulled away from her. He sat hunched over and cradling his bloodied wrist. His vision swam and he felt a cloying sickness in his stomach. He sat there, waiting and watching until he could be sure.

Emilie slept on, her face serene and beautiful despite the blood stained lips. He brought a shaking hand up to feel her forehead and nearly wept with joy at the touch of cool flesh. The fever had broken. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically with steady, strong breaths and her pulse beat a steady tattoo in her throat. She was alive and the danger of her illness had passed.

Dracula rose and hobbled to the door, weak with blood loss. He flung it open and startled Mrs. Andrews who stood wringing her hands together on the other side. At the sight of her, the smell of her life-giving blood filling the air, he loosed a snarl from his throat and bared his fangs, eyes a demonic shade of red. The woman jumped back in fright, cowering against the opposite wall. With his last ounce of sense before the blood frenzy descended in earnest, Dracula turned from her, sparing her, and fled out the servant’s entrance. He rose into the night on a cloud of black bat’s wings, hastening forth towards the village in search of fresh blood.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dracula feels emotions so he ruins everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm continually overwhelmed that there are people out there who like my writing. Thank you thank you thank you.

Dracula slept. His body lay on the ground, perfectly motionless and half-buried in the cold, sheltering dirt beneath the ruins of the Abbey’s old chapel. His pale face appeared carved from marble; his lips were stained a shocking red from the blood he’d gorged upon before going to his rest.

The butcher’s boy… the butcher… and a tinker he’d come upon on the road out of town. He’d been senseless and crazed in his need for blood. In his entire long life, Dracula had never felt Death’s pursuit so close at his heels as he had after offering himself to Emilie. He was afraid…and furious. 

The blood revived him but at the creeping sensation of dawn’s approach he grew weary again. He knew the thin layer of soil beneath his feather mattress would not do enough to restore him. And so he’d sought out the cold embrace of the earth beneath the abandoned chapel. In only a matter of hours he would be made well again. Then he would see Emilie… see her healthy and vibrant, her skin flushed and warm with the life he’d given…or had she taken it? Stolen it from him? _Stolen…offered…_ His thoughts and emotions were tangled in confusion in the aftermath of the blood frenzy. His lips slowly curled back in an angry snarl. _Emilie…_

***

Emilie woke to a new world. She felt the brush of each individual thread in the sheets that covered her, her nostrils flared as she took in a banquet of scents: fresh coffee from the kitchen, grass, flowers, mold from the garden outside her window, the sweet, homely perfume of her mother’s personal scent. Somehow she could smell the time of day: the dry, still warmth of midday. 

When she opened her eyes she found her mother slumped over asleep in a rocking chair beside her bed. Emilie smiled faintly and reached out to take her hand. Mrs. Andrews came awake abruptly, looking about her in confusion for a moment before she recalled where she was.

She smiled down at her daughter and moved over to sit on the edge of the bed, “How are you this morning, better?”

Emilie frowned trying to remember the details of everything that happened yesterday. She remembered feeling unwell…going to the Count’s bedroom…feeling desperately that she needed him but also fearing to wake his monstrous side. But she felt perfectly fine…better than fine now. 

“I’m…wonderful, Mama,” Emilie replied, sitting up against the pillows. “I feel wonderful. How do you come to be here? Did the Count send for you when I was ill?”

Emilie’s tone was doubtful. She’d never known Dracula to correspond with her family other than forwarding payments to them through his solicitor. Mrs. Andrews shook her head.

“I came up with the doctor. You don’t remember? You were quite unwell, we really feared the worst…” she trailed off and her eyes looked troubled. She squared her shoulders and resolved to prod for the truth, “Count Dracula was concerned. Very concerned for your health. I’ve never known him to be so solicitous towards his servants before, Emilie.”

Emilie’s cheeks blushed a deep shade of pink and she directed her gaze down at her hands clasped together in her lap, “He has been very kind, mama….Can I have some water, please?”

Mrs. Andrews got slowly to her feet and Emilie felt a flash of guilt. She shouldn’t have avoided her mother’s obvious curiosity, and she shouldn’t let her wait on her like this. Her mother had a weak disposition and staying up with her all night must have exhausted her. 

“No, mama, I’m sorry! Sit back down and I’ll get the water. I really do feel amazingly better.”

Mrs. Andrews sent her a grateful look as she took her seat again in the rocking chair. She watched Emilie spring from bed and pour two glasses of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. 

“You look amazingly well, child,” Mrs. Andrews remarked. “Do you remember what it was the Count did to cure you? When he asked me to leave the room you were still looking frightful but only moments later he stormed out and your fever had broken…”

Emilie froze for just a second as she handed a water glass to her mother and moved to sit back in bed.

“Why…I’m sorry, mama. My memories are all hazy. I was very feverish…”

Mrs. Andrews narrowed her eyes but let the subject drop. She nodded toward the small wardrobe in the corner and quirked her head inquisitively, “Where are all of your clothes, darling? Your wardrobe is nearly empty. Have you left them in the laundry room?”

Emilie choked on a swallow of water and spent a moment clearing her throat and vying for time to think. She knew her mother would always be able to read a lie on her face as soon as it was uttered. She supposed they were past the point of concealment.

“My clothes are in Count Dracula’s bedroom, mama,” she said with only the slightest tremor of nerves. To admit to sharing a bed with a man out of wedlock was bad enough. For that man to be her employer…and the dark creature who had held her family’s indenture for a century….Well, Emilie was worried about her mother’s response.

“Oh, Emilie…you…he…oh, dear,” Mrs. Andrews drew in a long breath and took a moment to compose her thoughts. “I cannot reprimand you, dear daughter. Not after asking you to set aside your fear and morality in order to carry on your family’s duty as you have done…But I must caution you, Emilie. Count Dracula is many things but when it comes down to it he is a man. A powerful man. Men of power may play with our lives, our affections as they wish. Please, be careful…”

Emilie reached over and placed her hand over her mother’s, “Mama, you don’t need to worry. Vlad–Count Dracula cares for me. I know he does.”

And she did know. For as she’d sat there listening to her mother’s worries she’d searched her mind trying to call up memories of last night. Suddenly her mouth flooded with the phantom taste, the rich pooling of his blood on her tongue and she remembered. She’d drunk from him again. This time he’d given her much, much more than usual. The taste was overwhelming. It was all cold, eastern skies, mournful wolf cries in the night and the cut of winter air on bare skin. But there was more: there was the reflection of warm candlelight glowing on her skin, her cheek dimpled in a smile and the soft, vulnerable feel of her body under his. He loved her. It was a fact that she knew in her bones just as she knew that the sun would rise and set each day. Count Dracula loved her. 

***

Dracula rose as the sun’s light extinguished below the horizon. He climbed out from the hastily dug grave and brushed the soil from his clothes. Sleeping in the earth had fully restored him after the near fatal drink last night. He crept out onto the lawn and made his way toward the house. 

When he entered he found Emilie and her mother in the dining room eating supper. He still smelled of rot and mold and his white shirt was stained and unkempt. He stepped forward, his every move radiating danger and took a seat beside Emilie and across from her mother.

“I’m glad to see you looking so…lively, Miss Emilie,” Dracula drawled, drumming his fingers on the table and eyeing his lover with a sharp gaze.

Emilie was caught off guard and unsure how to respond, “Count, thank you for taking care of me yesterday. I’m feeling much better today.”

She was wearing one of the gowns he’d purchased for her. Emerald green silk that clung to her curves without being overly revealing. His Emilie was adorably modest even after he’d so thoroughly debauched her.

“Taking care of you…certainly. Although it seems you were the one taking, darling. Don’t you think?”

She furrowed her brows at him and shook her head quizzically, “Are you well, Vl…Count?”

Dracula’s eyes swung from daughter to mother knowingly. Mrs. Andrews didn’t seem surprised to see her daughter supping at her master’s table rather than attending it. He realized Emilie must have taken her into her confidence. He felt…he did not know how to quantify the emotions swirling within him. He felt soaring joy to see her well and eating. It gave him satisfaction that he had been the means of her salvation. He should be her salvation, her master, her everything. But he was also unavoidably disturbed that he had allowed himself to become so weakened for her…by her. He had wanted a bride, a deathly wife, to serve him and belong to him forever. He had not intended for the bond between them to take this form. She possessed him now as much as he possessed her. Count Dracula was unaccustomed to being in anyone else’s power and he lashed out against the very thought. It sparked anger, fear and hostility in his blood. He felt the edges of his self flare over into monstrous intent.

“I am well, Emilie. I have recovered my strength as you see,” he turned to Mrs. Andrews. “Mrs. Andrews, I must ask you to leave now. It’s really not appropriate for my housekeeper to invite her family to sup at my table. I’m surprised at you, Emilie.”

Emilie flinched away from him as if his cruel behavior had landed a physical blow. Mrs. Andrews narrowed her eyes and replied coldly, “I believe there is some new arrangement being worked out here, Count Dracula. My daughter is your housekeeper no longer.”

Dracula’s lips widened into a leering smile as he asked in a tone of false confusion, “Well, then, if she is no longer my housekeeper whatever can I be paying her for? Emilie…what services have you been rendering me of late to earn your salary?”

Mrs. Andrews gasped furiously but before she could respond Emilie sprang from her seat and struck Count Dracula in the face. Her strength could never match his but the infusion of his blood had improved it and his head snapped to the side as her palm made contact with his cheek. Emilie stood over him, fists clenched in anger and breathing rapidly. It was done in the matter of a second and she stood there feeling fury and fear warring within her. She knew that Count Dracula was powerful and dangerous. She could admit to herself that she was drawn to that part of him. And her demeanor was so naturally sweet and obedient that to defy him sent a wave of panic through her. But in that moment she reacted as she thought she must. She might be submissive and adoring, but she was also her mother’s daughter and her grandmother’s granddaughter…and she was brave.

“How…dare you?” she demanded. “I have been nothing but pure kindness and devotion and you would insult me this way in front of my mother?”

Dracula sat motionless, his head tilted to the side from her slap. He locked eyes with Mrs. Andrews and growled, “Leave now, Mrs. Andrews.”

The woman balked, “Now, I don’t think–”

“Now!” he roared, leaping across the table and grabbing the woman by the collar, dragging her out of the room. Emilie ran after him uselessly, unable to keep up with his preternatural speed. He reached the front door and tossed the woman out onto the gravel drive, slamming the door shut and rounding on Emilie. 

“It’s my fault, really,” he mused, stalking toward her and shepherding her back into the dining room. “I see I’ve given you too much. Too much leniency, too much freedom, too much…blood.”

Emilie’s back came up against the wall and she watched him approach with eyes wide in fear. She held her hands, palms out as if to ward him away, “Vlad, you’re not well. You need to…to eat and then I think–”

“Are you offering?” he taunted, finally reaching her and caging her in his arms. His fangs elongated and his eyes began clouding over scarlet. 

Emilie’s eyes filled with tears and she cringed away from him as if hoping the wall would simply swallow her up, “No…Vlad.”

Her scent spiked with fear, souring the air between them. Dracula grimaced in distaste, the surprise brought him slightly out of his frenzy. Emilie was flinching away from him, her eyes scrunched shut and her mouth open in a sob of horror. And suddenly he was flashing back to the last time they’d been in bed together. The soft touch of her skin, the beauty of her surrender, her trust in him. The contrast with the current moment made him want to gag. He turned away from her, pacing to the other side of the dining table, putting distance between them. He stood there, holding his head in his hands, grasping for control. 

He could hear her crying behind him. And then her footsteps, hesitant at first and then more confident as she walked toward the front hallway. The door hardly made a sound as she closed it behind her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angsty interlude of lovers parted. Dracula works out how not to be a douche. The last chapter ended with a door closing. This one will end with a door opening. Also the requisite vampire looking in through the window scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to all who leave kudos and comments! Interacting with fics is what keeps fic writers going. You guys are giving me and this fic life!

Each morning since she left Emilie rose from bed with a listless spirit and went through the motions of dressing and preparing for her day. She’d taken a job at the hand laundry workshop in town and she spent long hours each day soaking, scrubbing, drying and ironing. It was exhausting work that left the delicate skin of her hands cracked and her back aching. She never returned home until after sunset. Emilie supposed it was good to be so busy for she had no energy for anything when she got home other than a quick supper and getting into bed. There was certainly no time to think about the Count. About the taste of love in his blood, the flare of joy she’d felt at the discovery, so quickly extinguished by his…horrible, pig headed cruelty. No, she didn’t have time even to dwell on the confection of emerald green silk that still hung up on the wall in the corner of her room: a ghost of a life that seemed so long ago, so far removed.

She told herself these lies to get through the day. But at night, in the darkness of her little bedroom, she let the tears fall for her love. She still loved him though she was also furious at him. And she felt him still, too, through the ethereal connection that bound them together. His emotions were a whirling confusion of impressions without context that she couldn’t interpret into any meaningful idea of his actions or thoughts. Sometimes she felt waves of lust and exaltation from him. She assumed he must be feeding at those times. But other times she felt his weariness, his amusement, his boredom, his anger…and his sadness. His sadness was like a bruise on her soul. She longed to reach out to him and comfort him. Sometimes she tried, sending her thoughts in his direction and trying to inject them with warmth, comfort and love. She was always met by the sudden slamming shut of a barrier between them. It sent an icy chill down her spine when he cut himself off from her–it felt like losing one half of herself. And it would invariably send her into a black mood of mourning for the rest of the night. In her most desperate hours she prayed to God and asked, demanded to know what she’d done wrong. All she ever did was love and serve Dracula. Why had he forsaken her? But it was not the word of God she heard in response, but her mother’s words echoing back to her from that last day at Carfax. _Men of power may play with our lives, our affections as they wish._

***

Dracula rose each night with the ghost of a sob in his throat as if he’d swallowed a suicidal songbird before going to sleep. He knew it belonged to Emilie. He could taste her emotions through their connection just as surely as he’d tasted her blood. Since…that night she tasted like poisoned happiness and bitter regrets. He tried to harden his heart towards her, to occupy himself with pleasure, blood, lives, but she was still there, always. Like an annoying little spark inside his chest that at times burned and other times seemed to suffer and wither. 

He felt her reaching for him sometimes, a psychic assault of goodness and warmth that made his skin crawl in self-loathing. He tried keeping her out, putting up his mental defenses. It did work. But he was weak and each time he shut her out the hollow emptiness on the other end of the connection would unnerve him. It was like she wasn’t there, like she was dead. He always came back, drawing back the curtain just for a peek at the other side. To know she was safe. And each time he felt the black oppression of her sadness at being cut off from him. It was suffocating.

So, in keeping with his recent trend, he ran from the overwhelming emotions. In a fit of stubbornness and to prove to himself that he belonged to no one and certainly not a silly housekeeper, he met with his solicitor to inform him of the cessation of payments to the Andrews family. Renfield was pleased to scratch that expense from his ledger book. The sycophant was always gratified to improve his master’s wealth and cut expenses.

“Very good,” he sniveled, smiling like the cat who’d caught the canary. “And what about the house?”

Count Dracula raised his brows in question, “What house, Renfield?”

Here the solicitor chuckled, “The Andrews’s residence, of course. We–that is, you are the landlord.”

Dracula looked into the man’s eyes, gleaming with delight and greed, and felt the sudden urge to snap his neck. 

“The house, well…they’ll remain living there, I expect. I don’t think the family has designs on moving anywhere else.”

“Yes, but the rent. The rent was included in Miss Emilie’s salary,” Renfield prompted. 

Dracula felt the meanness go out of him. The idea of throwing Emilie onto the street… This whole meeting was a mistake. His shoulders sagged and he waved a dismissive hand as he responded, “Nevermind, Renfield. _Forget about this meeting_.”

The force of suggestion in his words left the solicitor gazing at him with a look of blank happiness for a moment before he came to his senses again. The Count tutted sympathetically as he led the man out of his office and down the corridor to the front door. He _probably_ should try to cut back on glamouring Renfield. The man was starting to go a little…off.

Before he ushered him out the door he paused and asked, “Renfield, you arranged for company tonight, didn’t you?”

“Oh!” Renfield beamed, “Yes, master, a visiting Countess from France. She has a distant cousin who lives in town but she’s taking her leave of them tonight and departing very early in the morning. So…”

“So,” Dracula agreed. “Very good.”

He stood back from the doorway as Renfield opened it to the daylight and took his leave. _Fresh blood tonight_ , he parted his lips and salivated at the thought. She wouldn’t compare to Emilie, but he’d make do.

***

The Countess turned out to be such a vulgar gossip that if he weren’t weary from his talk with Renfield he would have snapped her neck on the spot and flew off to the next county to find some suitable shepherd boy to sate his appetite. Instead he urged the Countess to indulge in seconds at dinner, hoping to quiet her ceaseless chatter.

“Where are your servants, Count Dracula?” the woman demanded impertinently. “You’ve no one to serve the table? How odd!”

Dracula showed her his teeth in a menacing smile, “I’m between housekeepers at the moment, Countess.”

She lifted a knowing brow, “Ah, yes, I think my cousin may have mentioned something along those lines. One of the daughters of that Andrews woman? You recently sacked her? What was it, theft? It’s a shame we can’t expect virtue in our servant class anymore, isn’t it?”

Dracula put his arm on the back of her chair and clenched his fingers into the wood, “It seems that nothing is beneath your notice, Countess.”

She sniffed haughtily, “I like to get to know the places I visit….You know, I think I saw that girl the other day. Yes, I did! I remember my cousin remarking, ‘There goes the Andrews girl. She’s sorry she lost her cozy spot with the Count now, I reckon.’ And he was right. She was dreadfully thin and worn out looking. Her hands were bright red! From working with those chemicals they use in the laundry houses. Well…she won’t steal again that’s for sure…”

Dracula made it hurt when the time came. He relished the horrible woman’s cries and struggles as he quenched the life from her. All the while his mind’s eye supplied him with the image of Emilie: tired, starved, and maimed from hard labor. When he finished he drew back and let the blood run down his chin and drip onto the corpse’s ashen face. He was the picture of a pagan god feasting on a human sacrifice. He cracked her spine with a twist of the neck and let her drop to the floor in an undignified heap.

***

The Andrews family house was located on the main road in a section of town primarily occupied by merchants. It was a place they’d never have been able to manage without their special arrangement with the Count. Dracula, who came so infrequently into town, had never been inside. He stood across the wide street and regarded the modest brick dwelling. The windows in the parlor were illuminated and cast cheery yellow light out onto the dark street. He could feel Emilie’s presence inside the home and it lent the whole scene an air of fragile beauty. A loving home, glowing with hope and goodness against the forces of the night. Dracula rolled his eyes at his own train of thought and crossed the street. A force of the night coming to call.

Before approaching the door he detoured through the flower bed and stood outside the parlor window looking in. Emilie sat by herself beside the fire. There was a pile of knitting in her lap, but her hands were still. She gazed into the fire and he saw tear tracks on her cheeks. He regarded her critically and admitted that the Countess’s observations had been accurate. Emilie looked weak, thin and tired. Her hands were raw and cracked and her face looked despondent. He had never seen her like this. Not even when she’d first come to him and she was too frightened to stand in his presence without trembling. The Count felt a deep self-disgust that he was the cause of her unhappiness. He did not know at what point he’d begun to care but there was something forged between them that he could not deny.

He turned away from the sad scene and went to the door. He heard a rustle of commotion at his knock. Shortly the door creaked open allowing the cheerful light from within to spill out illuminating the tall, dark form of Count Dracula.

Emilie stood with one hand on the doorknob and the other over her heart. She gasped upon seeing him there, conjured, it seemed, from her own yearning.

“Vlad?” she breathed.

“Hello, Emilie,” he replied, aiming for cavalier.

Emilie took a beat to recover before asking, “Won’t you come inside?”

Dracula grinned in response but didn’t yet move forward.

“If you’ll invite me,” he replied.

Emilie smiled, dimples appearing in her cheeks although her eyes remained sad and guarded.

“Come inside, Dracula.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff, followed by some smut: a reunion

Count Dracula, in his flowing dark cape and richly tailored suit, looked positively exotic sitting in the worn chintz armchair surrounded by the Andrews family’s aggressively feminine decor. The parlor was a charming mix of floral patterns, old lace, china knick knacks and displays of the girls’ various attempts at pastoral landscape watercolors. Dracula, with his long, lithe form and aura of dark monstrosity, tucked into the little chair and looking about himself with an expression of polite curiosity was enough to break through the miasma of Emilie’s sadness. She giggled in delight at the picture he made.

Dracula raised his eyebrows at her laughter and smiled softly. It was strange to see him here in her family home. But it felt so pleasant and natural to see him looking at her with that crooked smile on his face.

“Shall I make tea?” Emilie asked automatically, shifting into hostess mode in the absence of her mother and sister who were both already asleep upstairs.

Dracula huffed a laugh as he replied, “If you like.”

Emilie felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment almost as soon as the words had left her mouth.

She stammered an excuse, “Oh–I…sorry, force of habit. I think I will make some for myself if that’s not terribly rude?”

Dracula waved a hand dismissively and Emilie vanished into the kitchen where she could privately melt at her own stupidity while she waited for the water to boil.

When she reentered the parlor she found Dracula standing with his hands folded behind his back, inspecting a brightly hued watercolor hanging over the mantle. She set down the tea service tray and went to stand beside him.

“My sister, Anna, painted this one,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the brilliant splashes of red, orange and violet. The painting showed a line of birch trees on the horizon, a little village nestled safely in the foreground as the sun rose into a crisp, blue sky.

“It’s wonderful,” Dracula whispered in a tone of sincere awe. Emilie looked up at him, his lips parted and his eyes moving over the image as if to memorize every detail. She felt her heart clench at the look of boyish longing on his face.

“You miss it?” she asked hesitantly. “The sun?” 

She was unsure of how familiar she was allowed to be with him now. Was he here as her friend? Her lover? Her employer…her landlord? She pushed her insecurities away, unwilling to lose this moment of connection with him after she’d so longed to see him again.

Dracula tore his eyes away from the canvas and looked down at her, a sad smile crinkling his eyes, “Yes, very much so. Appreciate her, Emilie, while you have her.”

They moved away from the mantle and took their seats. Emilie pondered his words as she poured herself a cup of tea. She supposed he referred to her mortality, the limited number of days she would spend under the sun. After his anger, his rejection, she couldn’t assume he meant anything else. Even if she’d come to think…to hope…he meant to take her as his dark wife. That was all over now.

She sat back in her seat and cradled the cup of tea in her scarred hands, taking comfort in its warmth, “She is radiant and lovely. And I’ve seen her in a new way since…well, since you showed me how. But…you know, I did come to love the night. For a while…”

She held her breath and felt her heart beat in her throat as she watched his face for a reaction to her words. Dracula’s expression was a mask of stoicism but his eyes burned as he leaned forward and reached toward her, cupping his hands around hers over the tea cup. His gaze fixed on the red, cracked skin of her fingers and he let out a sympathetic hiss.

“My Emilie. Your poor hands. What have you done to yourself?”

Emilie stared down at their joined hands for a moment, transfixed, before answering in a firm tone, “Only what I had to do. For my family.”

Dracula came fully forward, kneeling before her to stay at eye-level. He clasped his hands around her too-thin waist and looked up at her in silence for a moment. Emilie could feel his emotions through their bond. She felt his fear, his shame, his anger…and love. She still felt the bright jewel of his love shining out at her and it felt better than the warmth of the sun ever had. 

“Emilie,” he murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, “I have not forsaken you. Or your family. I won’t let you starve or turn you out of this house. Do you understand? You don’t need to work yourself into ill health. _Please_ …don’t.”

Emilie choked back a sob at his words. She felt relief, gratitude, adoration…but also the echoing pain of betrayal and rejection. Only a few weeks ago Vlad had turned his monstrous cruelty against her. He’d hurt her and insulted her because she had the audacity to make him feel vulnerable. And now here he knelt before her like a supplicant, avowing his devotion and loyalty? She’d dreamed of this, but the actual event felt like being suddenly knocked about. She couldn’t keep hold of her emotions.

“What was I supposed to do, Vlad? How was I to know if you would continue to support us after…after…”

She couldn’t speak the words to evoke the final scene between them at Carfax. It was too painful a memory. 

“I’m sorry, Emilie,” Dracula whispered. He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her cheeks, laying chaste kisses across her face, each one a plea for her forgiveness. “I was afraid, Emilie. I’ve never…I wanted to make you my bride. You knew that, didn’t you? I wanted to make you like me and I’d never come so close to succeeding before. I was afraid…I _am_ afraid that I’ll fail. I never planned to get so attached…for there was always the risk that you might not come back…in the end. And when I felt that you had finally staked a true claim on me–on my heart and soul–I panicked and I was…unforgivably cruel to you. I–I love you, Emilie. I’d forgotten that I was capable of the emotion…”

Emilie set down the teacup and took his face in her hands, leaning forward to press her lips to his and letting her tears finally fall to stain his cheeks as well as hers. She was passionate and energetic, finally allowing herself to let go of the hurt and mourning she’d been carrying these past few weeks. She nipped his lower lip and delighted in his deep, rumbling purr of pleasure. Her fingers twined in the hair at the nape of his neck. Every detail was vivid and arousing with her heightened senses: the feel of his soft lips gradually warming from the heat of her own, the restrained strength in his hands wrapped around her waist and pulling her closer, each silken thread of hair brushing through her fingers. She broke away from him, panting and clinging to the collar of his cape with all her might.

Dracula let out an intentional breath and stared up at her, capturing her with the deep pools of his liquid eyes with ease, “Emilie, I want you to understand what this means. You’ve belonged to me since before you even realized it. I own you: your soul, your blood, your life. But…you own me, too. I’m yours, Emilie. Now and always.”

Emilie breathed heavily, overwhelmed by lust and emotion. Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she responded, “In that case…I think I’ll take you to my bed, Count Dracula.”

They crept soundlessly up the stairway and down the short hall to Emilie’s bedroom. She led him by the hand over the threshold and shut the door delicately behind him. Count Dracula, her dark lover, her master, her slave, was standing in her childhood bedroom. The contrast of his presence in this sacred space was deeply compelling to her. She stalked forward, standing before him and reaching up to unclasp the cape from his shoulders. In a stroke of playfulness she wrapped it around her own shoulders and smirked up at him.

“You know…this is where my sister and I would whisper stories to each other at night. About the terrifying Count Dracula and his dark powers.”

He reached up and began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, gradually revealing his dark chest hair and starkly pale skin. 

“Is that so?” he asked in a tone of bland curiosity.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, dropping the cape to the floor and reaching around her back to loosen the fastenings of her dress and slowly let the material drop over her shoulders. “I’d have nightmares about the evil creature I would one day serve. His devil horns, his cloven feet….his power to transform into a wolf at will!”

Emilie’s soft laughter was interrupted by a sheepish look from the Count, “Well…yes that last one is true, I’m afraid.”

Emilie’s mouth dropped open in shock, “You can turn into a wolf!?”

Dracula suppressed a smug smile as he discarded his shirt and undid the buttons of his fly, “Does that frighten you, Emilie? Or excite you?”

He stepped out of his trousers and moved forward with inhuman speed, grabbing the waist of her petticoat and slipping it over her hips so she stood naked and exposed before him. 

“I don’t know…maybe both,” she whispered, leaning forward so the points of her nipples brushed against the taught skin of his stomach. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him to her, reveling in the perfect feel of his naked skin against hers. 

“My big, bad wolf,” she grinned and pulled him toward the bed. 

She fell backward and tugged him down with her onto the tiny mattress. He had to curl his legs up in order to fit but he was happy to wrap himself around her little body. He enveloped her in his arms and ran his hands down her back and over the rounded flesh of her buttocks, squeezing gently and eliciting a squeak of surprised pleasure from Emilie.

“Shhh, little one,” he admonished bringing a finger to her lips and then pressing it forward, dipping his long digit into her mouth and watching with hooded, lusty eyes as she sucked obediently. “Do you need me to keep you quiet?”

Emilie’s eyes fluttered shut at the suggestion, envisioning her master taking her on her childhood bed as he gagged her with his own fingers. She felt herself nodding in response to the question, still sucking his finger and laving it with her tongue.

Dracula smirked and added another finger, pressing down on her tongue and watching as saliva pooled and spilled over her lips. He ran his other hand over her breasts, playing with her nipples and teasing them with his sharp nails.

“Good girl,” he praised her as she stayed perfectly silent, muffling her little sounds of pleasure by wrapping her lips around his digits. “I’ll always take care of you, sweet Emilie.”

He continued his attentions to her breasts, flicking, licking, biting and teasing until Emilie was near tears at the over stimulation. She struggled to form words around his fingers and he finally relented, pulling them out and looking down at her with brows furrowed inquisitively, “What is it?”

She took a deep breath and nearly sobbed her words, “Please, Vlad, I need you now.”

Dracula’s lips spread in a leering grin and he crawled over her, caging her with his body, “I’m yours to command, sweet Emilie. Always.”

He palmed her hips and lowered himself until he was just waiting at her entrance, teasing her by running the thick tip of his member through her soaking folds over and over again. He looked up at her, expectantly.

“Vlad!” she admonished him, unable to form much more in the way of coherent words. He took pity on her and plunged forward, thrusting himself inside her and hissing at the beautiful, tight, hot feel of her wrapped around him. 

Emilie cried in joy and relief as he finally entered her. The sound was jarring in the silent house and Vlad whipped a hand up to her mouth, pressing his palm over her lips to keep her quiet as he pounded inside of her. He ramped up to an inhuman tempo that Emilie was powerless to match. She could only arch upward in needy wantonness, seeking to maximize the friction and deepen his reach inside her. If he’d planned this at all he would have taken her slowly, tenderly, injecting his devotion and apology into every movement of his hips, his hands, his mouth. But he was just as powerless as Emilie in the face of his reaction to her. His blood sang at their closeness as if it flowed in sync with hers. He could read her feelings in the touch of her skin. Her love, her passion, her wanting. It was everything that he felt and more. 

He surrendered himself over to her, pushing his intent through their connection and dipping down to bury his head in the crook of her neck, laying sweet kisses over her jugular. He wouldn’t bite her. The next time he gave her his vampire’s kiss it would be her last. The joy and terror of his decision coursed through him as he felt his hips stutter chaotically as his orgasm washed over him. Emilie threw her head back and bit into his fingers as the sensation of his pleasure reached her through their bond and pushed her over into her own climax. Her legs shivered and trembled around his hips as they both relaxed their bodies and clung together. 

***

The next morning Mrs. Andrews entered the dining room to find two sealed letters sitting on the table. One was from Emilie and it was a goodbye. The words were simple but heartfelt. The Count had proposed marriage and she had accepted. They would be away for some time…honeymooning.

The second letter was written in the Count’s own severe hand. It explained that his solicitor, Mr. Renfield, would be in touch to discuss the transfer of ownership of Carfax Abbey, along with a substantial sum, to Mrs. Andrews.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter of the Emilie/Dracula story. I know that there will be some who will be disappointed that I'm not planning to keep this going and going. All I can say is that I can recognize that there's room to continue the story, but that I never intended to extend it beyond this point and if I tried to I don't think my creativity would hold up and the fic would not be as good.
> 
> I so, so, so appreciate and love everyone for commenting, leaving kudos and bookmarking and connecting with me on Tumblr. It seriously means so much to me to know there are people who like to read my fic. So, thanks!!! And enjoy...

The enclosed carriage rocked over the bumpy road as it made it’s slow and steady progress through the dense wood. When they approached a break in the trees Emilie got her first glimpse of the castle standing stark and magnificent against the moonlit sky. It took her breath away. Ruined ramparts stuck up like jagged fangs, crowning the ancient stone facade. Even from a distance she felt the energy of this old castle: its history, its power, its ghosts. It was just the type of place she pictured her Count thriving and occupying with his dark presence. And could she see herself here also? Could she discern the amorphous possibilities for her future in the craggy, chiseled walls and worn, creaking shutters? **  
**

Her eyes shifted to glance at her traveling companion, her dark lover, her dear man. He was looking back at her with an expression of anticipation and affection. A soft smile touched his lips which she returned with her own shy grin. 

_No,_ she didn’t see her future in the ancient ruined castle. She saw it _here_ , in Dracula’s eyes.

***

They took the train to Edinburgh and made the rest of the journey via horse-drawn carriage. When the Count had given her his…proposal, he’d explained the need to move away to a less populated place.

“My Emilie,” he’d whispered into her ear in the shaking, vulnerable moments following their union in her childhood bedroom. He held her in a tender embrace, cherishing the rise and fall of her chest, the heat of her body against his. “I want you, Emilie….always.”

She looked up at him, eyes scanning his face and luxuriating in his presence. She’d missed him so. 

“I want that too, Vlad,” she breathed, cupping his cheek in her hand and running her thumb over the plump, tender flesh of his lower lip. Dracula’s eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted. With a playful growl he lunged forward and captured her thumb in a blunt edged bite. Emilie jumped and squeaked in surprise before settling back into his arms. 

His face grew serious, “But do you understand what I mean? When I say ‘always’…?”

Emilie felt suddenly bashful and murmured her answer, “You want to make me…like you?”

“Yes, my little human. You will be magnificent. A prodigy. Fed from my own veins for so long, how could you not? But we’ll need to go away for a time…perhaps the Highlands, I own a lovely little castle that would do nicely. You see, it’s been my experience that vampires need some time to adjust after the change. You’d never forgive me if I let you become overwhelmed with blood lust and drink your own mother…”

Emilie shuddered at the image he’d created, “But you don’t… _you_ seem to be able to control it…”

Dracula smiled encouragingly down at her. He didn’t want to scare her away, but he needed her to understand.

“Well…,” he sighed, “I am a lot older than you, darling. But I promise it won’t be forever. You’ll just need a little time and my guidance and then, if you want, we can return to visit or to stay…”

She said yes. Yes to all of it. Yes to him. _Forever._ She was afraid of losing herself and of something going wrong. But her passion for him was more than she could bear and she’d prefer death in his arms than a long life apart.

She thought of little else during their journey. Vlad was forced to ride in the storage car for much of the train ride. They laughed about it as she sealed him away in the oblong box, so like a coffin that Emilie’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes pricked with tears once the final nail was hammered. The idea of her lover shut away by himself was so melancholy. She leaned down and placed a kiss on the wooden slats, right over his heart and whispered, “I love you.”

Dracula answered her by knocking three times on the inside of the box. _I. Love. You._ Her lips curled in a brittle smile and she marveled at the bizarre love affair in which she’d found herself.

Alone in the train car she had ample opportunity to question herself, to miss her mother, to worry about what was to come. But when she thought of her Count…the way he touched her with a heady mix of ferocity and tenderness…she felt her resolve strengthen. He was hers and she would have him forever. She felt deep down that it was fated to be this way.

***

Dracula stopped her with a hand on her arm before she could cross the threshold into their new home. With a wicked grin and a flourish of his cape he scooped her into his arms and carried her, bridal-style, inside the massive entry hall. Emilie squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“You’re so…” she trailed off, shaking her head. She’d never seen him so carefree.

“I’m happy,” he murmured, dropping a slow, languid kiss on her lips as he released her to stand beside him. “What do you think of your castle, Emilie?”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat that formed at his words. It was absurd! She’d gone from a lowly servant to an unemployed lowly servant to the mistress of a grand old castle and the bride-to-be of a noble vampire. It was all too much to take in and she felt tears well in her eyes as she surveyed the grand hall around her. The ceilings vaulted overhead, shadows pooling in the corners. The walls were decked with elaborate tapestries decorated in swirling Pictish symbols and landscape scenes. A winding staircase led up to a gallery on the second floor and arched doorways on either side of the room opened to the rest of the castle.

“It’s beautiful, Vlad,” she answered.

The driver followed them inside and placed their trunks off to the side, keeping his head down all the time.

“Thank you, Mr. Chambers,” Dracula said, waving his hand to dismiss the old man. Emilie saw the look of relief on his face as he turned on his heel and fled back outside. Dracula seemed to have a bit more of a reputation in these parts…

“Rural superstitions,” he remarked, catching the thoughtful look on Emilie’s face. “They have no idea what I am…or what you’ll soon be. They’re only suspicious of outsiders and my name is…rather exotic.”

She nodded her understanding and watched as he picked up a sheet of paper from an accent table by the door and read its contents, a smile spread over his lips, “Excellent. Mr. Renfield has made arrangements for dinner. They should be arriving later tonight…”

Emilie shivered at his words but she squared her shoulders and raised her eyes to meet his gaze, determined not to shy away from the realities of her new life.

Life came from life, she reminded herself. Dracula stepped into her space and ducked down to lay kisses along her brow. 

“My darling Emilie,” he whispered into her hair. “Are you ready?”

***

He led her by the hand up the winding staircase and along the dimly lit gallery to the master bedroom at the end of the hallway. Inside she found that the room was already furnished and decorated in a fashion very similar to his chamber at Carfax. A massive bed dominated the room, piled with lush fabrics and furs. They settled down into the luxurious nest. Dracula leaned back on his elbows, his body language loose and casual. Emilie sat up against the headboard with her hands clasped together in her lap. He regarded her with a hint of the old predatory gleam in his eyes. She was trembling worse than the first time they met and Dracula felt a sudden, unwelcome clench around his heart. He didn’t want her afraid. He never wanted her to be afraid again.

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder and whispering, “Shhh…Emilie. We’re not going to do anything unless you want to, alright?”

Emilie took in a shaky breath and nodded her head, “I know, Vlad. I trust you.”

The vampire felt his chest swell with pride that he’d earned this fragile beauty’s love and trust. Even after everything, his cruelty and betrayal, she still loved him. He stroked his hand over her back and cooed soft, comforting words to her. He felt the tension in his body relax as he did so. He needed this moment as much as Emilie did. For there was still that nagging, intrusive fear in the back of his mind. _What if?_ _What if it didn’t work?_ He’d downplayed that possibility to her before. But she needed to know. 

“Do you want me to tell you what will happen?” he asked, sitting up and shifting until he was holding her against his cold chest. 

Emilie curled her fist against his chest and closed her eyes, pleased with the rumble of his voice against her cheek, “Tell me.”

“Before I can do this thing, you need to fully understand. And when you understand I will ask you once more if you wish to join me…to be my bride. Alright?”

His tone was somber and Emilie opened her eyes to look up at him and respond, “I understand, Vlad. Tell me.”

He took an unnecessary breath, tightened his grip on her little body, and spoke, “In order to become like me…a vampire…first you must die. For you to be born anew, sweet Emilie, I must take your life. I will bite you and drink your blood. It will be like it always has been; I won’t let it hurt. This time, though, I will drink you dry. I’ll take your blood until there is nothing left to give and you’ll be dead. Now, _this you need to understand_ : I can’t be certain that you will rise again. I’ve taken every possible precaution. I’ve fed you my blood to make you stronger and to build the bond between us but…there is a chance that when I kill you…it will be final.”

She could hear the anguish in his voice as he spoke and she felt it even stronger through their bond. He was afraid. Just as afraid as she was. She felt as if they were standing on the edge of a precipice together, about to jump. If Dracula jumped he would fly on the wind, landing safe and sound. Would she take his hand, uncertain if his power would protect her?

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down into his soft, bottomless gaze, “My Count. You think I haven’t considered the risk? I’ve thought of little else since we left Carfax. I’m afraid. I know you can feel my fear just as I can feel yours. But…I’m ready. I’ve thought it through and I want to be yours, Dracula. And I want you to be mine. I can’t truly have you any other way. _Please_.”

Dracula smiled down at her and captured her lips in a searing kiss, pressing his body flush against hers as he plundered her sweet, hot mouth. No one but Emilie had ever understood this simple fact. The only way to bond with another–to claim them and know them as lovers must–was through death. 

He pulled away, panting with the effect of the kiss and the borrowed heat of her body, “I’ll hold you in my arms until you wake up.”

Tears pricked her eyes and she nodded, “I love you, Vlad.”

He brushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear before replying, “I love you, my bride.”

And then he leaned down into the crook of her neck and sank his fangs into the tender, warm skin. Emilie’s blood pulsed over his tongue and it sang with love, longing and devotion. What had he done to deserve this dear creature? He cradled her head in the palm of his hand as he drank, stroking his fingers through her hair as the sweet nectar of her life drained away. He felt her body start to sag, relaxing into the final sleep. The blood was coming slower and it was thicker and more concentrated as if it came from her soul itself. He drank it all even as tears pooled in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Her precious heart beat slowed, staggered and then finally…stopped. 

Dracula pulled away, his mouth hanging open as he groaned in pleasure. Emilie’s life’s blood stained his chin and lips. He swallowed the final drops and clutched the girl’s limp corpse to his chest, clinging to her like a life preserver and praying to a God that he had no right to address. _Please…please…my dear one…_

He looked down at her little face. All the color had drained from her cheeks and her lips were blue. She felt heavy and lifeless in his arms even as he felt the thrill of her blood race through his own veins. He just held her, staring down at her ashen face and willing her to wake up. He chastised himself, trying to temper his impatience. He’d done this before and it had sometimes taken hours for a new vampire to awake. He must not despair…but he’d hoped that the gift of his blood would ease the transition somewhat…

Minutes passed and his lover still lay lifeless in his arms. He started to rock her gently and whisper to her, talking of all the things she had to look forward to if she’d just return to him. Not just _blood and power_ …but a _life_ together. In a moment of panic he reached out and tried to feel the bond, the strand of energy forged between them. He tugged at it with his mind and tried to send all his love and hope and fear through the connection to reach her wherever she was.

Dracula’s face was pressed against the wound on her neck, tears falling and mixing with the blood, when Emilie’s eyelids fluttered open at last. He felt it immediately, the change in her body, the vibrating, thrilling, aching presence of his lover through the blood bond. He pulled back and stared down at her in wonder and joy. 

Emilie looked up at him for a moment, unseeing and without understanding, before squinting her eyes shut and flinching against the harsh, vibrant assault on her senses. If she’d thought her abilities were heightened before they were now on a whole new level and it was painfully overwhelming. She moaned and writhed in his arms. Dracula wrapped her in a fierce hug and ran his hands over her back.

“Shhh…my beautiful, amazing girl. It’s alright. It will pass…”

It was minutes or hours or days later when Emilie finally relaxed into his hug and nuzzled her face into his chest with a purr of affection. Her first words since waking were muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

Dracula pulled back a bit, “Did you speak, Emilie?”

She looked back at him and he saw with a swoop in his stomach that it really was _her_. The transition had been kind and she seemed in full possession of herself as she answered, “I said I love you, Count Dracula.”

He smiled and pulled her against him in a fierce, aggressive embrace, letting go just a bit of his control over his vampiric strength to show her how good, how wonderful it would be now between them. He kissed her lips, her chin, her neck. He marveled that the wound was now nothing but a faint scar. He hadn’t had nearly enough of her but he knew his new little vampire would be thirsty after her transformation.

“I believe dinner should be arriving shortly, dear one,” he murmured against her lips. “We should get ready.”

“Yes!” she nearly shrieked and then looked abashed. The mere thought of blood had sent a spike of pleasure and lust through her stronger than anything she’d felt as a human. It was honestly frightening. 

Dracula felt her embarrassment and confusion through their bond and he shushed her, “It’s nothing to feel ashamed of, Emilie. This will be your life now, sweet girl. I’ll show you the way.”

After they’d dressed for the evening and were making their way down the grand staircase Emilie turned to her Count and asked playfully, “Shall I set the table tonight…milord?”

Dracula’s eyes glinted in amusement, “No, Emilie, I don’t think that will be necessary any more.”


End file.
